


Fight Against It

by BoomButterflyEffect



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Countries Using Human Names, Dark Magic, Explicit Language, On Hiatus, War, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomButterflyEffect/pseuds/BoomButterflyEffect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romano watches as a simple World Conference turns into a full-out World War. Ships used: Spamano, GerIta, USUK, Franada, PoLiet, PruAus, Hong Ice, ChibitaliaxHRE, slight SeaChelles, DenNor, and SuFin. Rated M for language and violence near the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The World Conference

Everyone finds love.

At least, everyone I know has. France loves Canada. England loves America. Belarus loves Russia--even if it is in a creepy way.

I sigh. Germany loves Italy.

Everyone, every nation, has found love. I can tell by the way they glance at each other across the huge table. We're at the World Conference. Usually I'm not allowed to come to these stupid things, but apparently there's something big coming, so every nation is here—including me, which makes no sense; Feliciano represents us.

But that's not important. My point is, every now and then one nation will glance at another. They'll smile, blush, their eyes will light up adoringly…

I recognize the look. It's the look Italy gets when he talks about Germany. It's love.

Something I'll never have.

As France and England argue about God knows what, I look at the faces of the nations. As stupid as they all are, everyone has something intriguing about them. I go down the table and point them out. Russia has really amazing dark purple eyes. China's hair looks cool when it's pulled back, and the bangs fall. England's eyebrows are weird, but original. France's hair curls in a way that only he could pull off. America's Nantucket and Canada's curl give them a youthful look.

China yells something to America about not being a Pokémon. I just roll my eyes stubbornly—what idiots—and turn to my left, towards the Axis. Japan's appearance makes him look very young when I know he's actually a lot older, so I think that's pretty neat. Prussia's red eyes are scary, I admit, but I envy them. And I hate to admit it, but Germany's blue eyes are very nice… and somewhat familiar.

And then there's Italy. He is small, cheerful, and absolutely adorable. People say we look alike and although I don't believe it, it's the greatest compliment a person could receive. His eyes shine brighter, his skin is lighter, and even his curl is cuter (could it have anything to do with it being on the left side of his head?). He's everything I'm not. 

I sigh with envy and look to my right. Hungary is next to me, looking down at her lap, where her frying pan is hidden. Hungary is naturally very pretty; her long brown hair is always tucked under a green beret, and her green eyes are always filled with love and hope. Next to her is Austria, and he also has a signature hairstyle that is his and only his. He also has violet eyes like Russia—which, if you were paying attention, I already mentioned!

And next to him is Spain.

I can't say enough about Spain, and whatever I DO say doesn't do him justice. His green eyes dart around the room, never losing their warmth or innocence. A few of his dark locks fall in his face, leaving a shadow on his smooth tanned skin. If Italy hadn't begged me to sit next to him, Austria and I would be switched and I'd be free to steal more glances of Spain. You can't really blame me. He's caring. He's fun. He's perfect.

I'm in love with him.

But I can never tell him that. It's just not who I am.

I hold back tears as France and England begin to argue. Again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Everybody, shut up!" Germany shouts as he stands and bangs his fists on the table, causing everyone to jump—and causing Spain to snap back to attention, which includes catching me staring at him. We lock eyes for a moment and he smiles. I glare back, feeling my face heat up, and turn back to Germany, who is now ranting.

"We will get nowhere if we continue to argue! We need to start discussing the matter at hand!" he screams, chopping the palm of his hand with the other to put emphasis on his words. "Anyone who wishes to speak about the situation, raise your hand. You will get five minutes and five minutes only, no exceptions! Do we understand each other?" He looks around the room, eyeing every single one of us. No one moves. "Good." Germany sits back down and looks around again. "Who would like to go first?"

Of course, Italy raises his hand and waves it around. I know he's going to say something stupid and embarrassing, so I pull his hand back down. But the potato idiota has already spotted it.

"Germany recognizes his friend Italy!"

Italy stands, looking serious for a moment, but then breaks into a wide, goofy grin as he shouts:

"………PAAASSSTTTAAAAAAAA~~~~!!!!"

I groan and facepalm, yanking my idiot brother back into his chair with my free hand. A few of the nations shake their heads (like Austria…), a few of them look like they couldn’t care less (like Greece, who has already started to fall asleep). But most of the nations smile. Hungary smiles, leans across me and pats Italy's head, careful not to touch his curl—believe me, you do *not* want to know what that thing does. Germany smiles a half-smile, which has got to be the rarest and craziest thing I've seen in my life.

I look past the corners of my eyes and see that Spain is laughing and smiling at Italy like he's the cutest thing in the world. Don't look at Feliciano like that! That's the way you should be looking at me—

What. Am. I. Saying?!

……………

You. Heard. Nothing.

I will sic my Mafia on your big, fat—

"This is going nowhere!" England cries, exasperated, throwing his arms into the air.

"This is going everywhere," France smirks.

England shakes his head. "Just… Just shut up."

"I agree," Japan says quietly. "I think we should all quiet down and listen to the real problem. Countries are disappearing," he says as he walks over to the large world map pinned to the wall. "Not disappearing literally, but fading, in a way."

"How can an entire land mass start to fade without any of us noticing, aru?" China asks.

"One of us noticed," Japan replies, looking down the table at… I'm not sure which country; there's too many of us here.

"Well, that still doesn't explain how and why the land is 'fading,'" England points out.

"I disagree," France says.

England groans. "Of course you do."

France shakes his head. "Non. I understand how it makes sense. See, we ARE our countries. If something were to happen to us, why shouldn’t something happen to our land?"

"That's exactly what I thought, France," Japan continues. "We believe one of the European countries has been kidnapped and tortured, and that's why the land is fading." 

Italy's eyes grow wide. "Ve… Which one?"

Japan looks down at his feet and doesn’t answer, so we all look at the map. Sure enough, one of the countries near Russia is faded; the color it’s shaded is light, and only the outline is still perfectly visible. It takes everyone a few minutes though, so when I finally figure it out, I turn and stare at Poland, feeling guilty. Everyone else does, too.

Poland looks down sadly. “I’m, like, really ashamed of you all. Especially you, Romano.” He looks up at me and shoots daggers with his sad green eyes. “You looked at every person in this room, and you totally didn’t even notice that Lithuania isn’t here.”


	2. Accusations

It's silent for a moment, until America stands up. "Lithuania's been kidnapped?! We've got to save him!"

"You don't always have to play the hero, America!" England snaps. "Sit down and shut up, you git!" He grabs America's arm and attempts to pull him back down in the chair.

"NO!" America yanks his arm away from England and walks to the front of the table. "I screwed up with Lithuania in the past, believe me. I'm not going to let him die!" He points suddenly at Russia. "I bet it was the creepy Russian dude!"

Russia calmly stands adjusts his pink—oh, how manly—scarf, and smiles. "I did not take the comrade. If I did, he would be dead and buried in Serbia at this point!" He tilts his head down the slightest bit but keeps his eyes up as he looks across the table and whispers, "It was probably the albino hermit."

Prussia jumps from his seat. "It wasn't me! I'm awesome on my own; I don't need anyone else! It was Hungary!"

Hungary lifts up her frying pan slowly and smiles sweetly at Prussia. "Do you REALLY want to go there, Prussia?" Her eyes slowly dart to the side. "It was probably Francy Pants, now, wasn't it?"

France shrugs dismissively. "It was England."

"What?!"

"It was you," France continues, looking at England. "It sounds like there's some dark magic involved. And you've always been a bad boy," he says, touching England's arm. 

England swats France's hand away. "It wasn't me, you idiot! Why would I waste perfectly good dark magic on Lithuania? And THAT. NEVER. HAPPENED!"

"It happened," Prussia smirks. "I hear stories."

England turns red with anger and embarrassment. "NO. I—I don't want to have this conversation. It was the pirates, I know it was!"

"I already said it wasn't me." Prussia leans back in his chair.

"Or me," France adds.

England stands and points to—you guessed it—Spain. "Then it was the Spaniard!" 

Spain's head snaps up and he yawns. "Hmm?"

I sigh angrily. "The idiot isn't even paying attention. Can we move on? I'd like to go home sometime today."

Germany scoffs. "An entire land mass disappears and you don’t even have the decency to care. Typical Romano."

The second I jump up, Feliciano and Hungary try to hold me back. "You'd better shut up!" I scream. "You don't know the first thing about me! And if anyone in this room had to be responsible for taking Lithuania, it would probably be you! You never learn!"

Italy's eyes grow to be the size of saucers. "Uh-oh," he whispers, and turns away from me the second Germany stands. He and Prussia attempt to put Germany back in his seat. 

"No, YOU'D better shut up!" he shouts at me. "You accuse me of making rash judgments about you, and then you become a hypocrite and make one about me! YOU don't know the first thing about ME! I'm not starting another war!"

"West, West," Prussia says soothingly. "Chill out. He isn't worth it."

"NO!" Germany screams. Everyone jumps. Germany gets angry often, but it's never this bad. "I will not 'chill out,' Prussia," he continues. "I will not 'chill out' because I am SO SICK of this spoiled little selfish BRAT!"

I stop struggling against Hungary's grasp, but her grip tightens. "Romano," she whispers in my ear. "Calm down, Romano."

But I don't need to be calmed down. Because it's not anger that pulses through my veins anymore. It's a different emotion entirely.

I gently push Hungary away and look around the room. Everyone is sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting for my next move. Entertainment. Drama. That's all I am, all I've ever been, all I'll ever be. 

I look at Feliciano, who is staring at me intently with his big brown eyes. Don't do it, fratello, I can practically hear him beg. I shake my head sadly and run out the room, slamming the door behind me. After it closes, I turn for a moment and stare at the door, somewhat hoping somebody will run after me. But no one does. And I realize, I don't care.

Because I don't care what they're talking about in that conference room. I don't care what's picking us off, one by one. As long as it gets a hold of me sometime soon and takes me out of my misery.


	3. And This is Why I Hate Belgians

The conference seems to go on forever. Two hours later, I sit outside and I can still hear the yelling, even though the nations and I are separated by a flight of stairs, a brick wall, and a five-inch glass window.

The arguing gets louder. I can practically hear England yelling at France to shut up. I sigh and rest my head against the brick building. A few moments later, the door to the building shuts and someone sits next to me.

“I have absolutely no clue what is going on up there,” Spain says, sighing—much like me. “They’ve never argued this much.”

“They want to save themselves from the Fading,” I reply stubbornly. “Don’t you?”

“Well, of course I care what happens to my country. But…” He looks at me intently and touches my cheek. “…I care what happens to you more.”

A shiver runs down my spine at his light touch. “G-Grazie,” I blush. “B-But… You should be in the conference room, listening, so you’ll know what you’re up against. You know, so you don’t embarrass yourself if you’re not prepared,” I add quickly.

“Oh, they’re past talking about that,” Spain laughs with a wave of his hand. “Now they’re just deciding on how we’ll all handle it. So, naturally, they’ll never decide!”

I cross my arms and look up at him. “So what are YOU going to do?”

Spain thinks for a moment. “Oh! I have a plan for my nation, don’t worry. As for you,” he says, scooting closer towards me, “I am not letting you get hurt.” He rests his hand on my side and a rare, serious look overcomes his face. “I’m not letting you disappear, Roma.”

“I’ll disappear one way or the other,” I mutter. It’s true. Feliciano are I have separate governments, but it can’t stay like that forever. So one day, we’ll be unified, and the more useful brother will get stronger and rise to power. The useless other—me—will disappear and die. “Italy’s the useful one.”

“No, Lovi!” His hand slides to my back and Spain pulls me forward so my head is resting on his shoulder. “I know you feel like you have nothing to be proud of, like you’re not important, like you’re close to disappearing all the time.” Why is he smoothing my hair? Watch out for the stupid curl, stupid! “But you listen to me for a second,” he says, pulling away and cupping my face with his hands. He looks at me with those big green eyes.

“I’m VERY proud of you,” Spain whispers, “you’re VERY important to me, and I’d be VERY upset if you disappeared.”

I can’t respond. That’s the first time anyone’s mentioned missing me when I die. “I—I…” I just can’t speak; words fail me. Because now, Spain looks into my eyes and smiles warmly, closes his eyes and leans down to kiss me.

I stay frozen. Of course. What am I SUPPOSED to do?! I’m too surprised to actually think!

Literally a half-second before our lips touch, I hear the door close and a girl’s voice. “Antonio, we have to—Oh!”

I curse loudly and push Spain away, who just laughs and runs a hand through his hair. I try not to blush—and probably don’t succeed—as I cross my arms and look at the owner of the voice.

Oh, dio. Did it HAVE to be Belgium?

The universe hates me!

Of course Belgium is standing by the entrance, OBVIOUSLY trying to fight back a smile. When I was younger I pretended to have a crush on her—please don’t ask why. Well, she decided to play the game too and pretended to “like me back,” and embarrassed me in front of everyone!

Although I’m pretty sure I would have been even more embarrassed if I had actually liked her in the first place…

Anyways, I’m pretty sure she’s thoroughly enjoying the fact that she almost saw Spain kiss me! How cocky can she get, fingering the little red ribbon hanging in her blond hair, acting all innocent? I can see straight through that act, you little witch. I used to get really nervous around her… Not anymore.

Belgium smoothes out her red tie and doesn’t look at us. “S-So, Spain, are you ready to go?”

“Go where, Bel?” Spain asks curiously.

“Well, I was thinking we could go to the orchard and get some tomatoes?”

Spain’s eyes instantly light up. “Oh, si!” He turns to me. “Would you like to come with us, Roma? I know how much you love tomatoes, too.”

I shake my head. “No, you guys go ahead. I’m going somewhere with Italy,” I lie.

Spain frowns. “I thought he was leaving with Germany?”

Oh, really? “A-After that,” I answer. “He’s, uh, meeting me later.” Thanks for the heads-up, little brother.

“Oh, okay!” He smiles sweetly at me before getting up and walking to Belgium.

“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a second,” Belgium tells him.

Spain nods and walks around the corner of the building, calling over his shoulder, “Adios, Lovi! I’ll talk to you later!”

I wave after him half-heartedly and lean my back against the wall.

Belgium finally looks up at me and a huge smile takes her over. “Yes, you seem very interested in ME, huh, Roma?”

I glare at her and purse my lips. “Shut up!”

Belgium giggles and runs off, leaving me alone.

I scoff and roll my eyes. Yes. Alone. Once again.

I suddenly realize how close Spain had been to kissing me. The thing is, would I have let him? Would I have kissed him back? Would I have liked it?

I slowly reach up to touch my lip. The second I do, I hear a rustling from around me.

I jump up. Is it Hungary with a camera? Oh, mio dio, how embarrassing would that be?! “Who’s there?” I yell. “Come on out, you coward!”

A moment’s silence, until a blond curl appears from behind a tree to my left. “I—I didn’t mean to scare you, eh…” the quiet voice says.

I sigh again. “Canada, what ARE you doing?”


	4. Allies

“Canada, what ARE you doing?”

Canada peeks out from behind the tree. “I—I’m sorry if I frightened you, Lovi. I didn’t mean to, really!”

I shake my head and pat the ground next to me. “Come here.” He hesitates, but I hit the ground harder and command, “Sit. Now.”

Finally, Canada steps out from behind the tree completely and slowly walks to sit next to me. 

“All right,” I say, looking straight ahead. “Now, how long were you sitting out here?”

As he sits, he smiles a tiny smile and looks out into the distance. “Hmm… A while.”

A sudden panic hits me. “A-And… What, um, what did you see?” I can FEEL myself blushing. God, how embarrassing can this day get?!

“All of it…”

“WHAT?!”

“U-Unless you didn’t want me to see any of it,” Canada says quickly. “I-I mean, I didn’t see anything! What did you not want me to see?”

I roll my eyes. “Canada…”

“Oui?”

I lean toward him and over-enunciate my words. “What. Did. You. See.”

Canada looks down at his lap. “Uh, I, um… Saw you and Spain a minute ago.”

Obviously, because life would be too simple if you hadn’t. “And?” Maybe I can pretend I don’t care?

“And…” he says quietly, “…I think you should have kissed him.”

………Well, that was unexpected. “Ex-Excuse me?”

Canada blushes. “I—I think you two go really well together.”

Okay, then. “How do we ‘go well together’?” I ask bitterly. 

“Well, I know Toni would do anything for you… And I know you must love him.”

I scoff. “If I ‘love him,’ why did I push him away?” Please, please, for the love of all that is good and pure on this godforsaken planet, don’t see through my act!

Canada cocks his head to the side. “Look in my eyes and tell me you wouldn’t have kissed him if Belgium hadn’t walked outside at that moment.”

Act, consider yourself seen through.

“I—I don’t know.” I turn my head away; I can’t even look at him.

“You would have,” he whispers. “Because you love Antonio, very much.”

“It-It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t love him,” I mutter. “He would never love me back. He’s too good a person to settle for me.”

“You’re a great person,” Canada tells me. “Your only problem is you’re not exactly open about some topics—especially amour.” 

My face heats up yet again. Really, is there a record for how often a person can blush in a single day? Because I’m pretty sure I beat it. All right, Lovino, do the smart thing: change the subject! “So, ah, when did you walk out here? When I left you were still in the room, and I didn’t see you walk out the door.”

“O-Oh,” Canada says sadly, “I walked out about two minutes before Spain did. Right when the arguing got worse? You probably didn’t see me. But I couldn’t handle all the shouting. And besides,” he adds, looking at his feet, “I wasn’t being useful anyway.”

That sounds familiar. “Not being useful,” I echo. 

“Oui,” he answers, looking ashamed. “I have ideas, of course. But whenever I tried to mention them, everyone would either ignore me completely or interrupt me. I’m used to it, you know, but it’s not the greatest feeling in the world, eh…”

“What are your ideas?” I ask. I feel like I should at least listen to them. No one else will, and I know how it feels.

Canada sighs. “W-Well, as much as I’m against the idea of fighting, I think we need to prepare for the worst.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You think there’s going to be a war?”

“Non, not a war!” he gasps. “Not another one!” He thinks about it a moment. “Well, actually, I think a war IS going to start. And soon, eh.”

“If you know anything about who’s doing this and when they’re going to wage war on us, you should tell the others—!”

“That’s not what I mean, Romano,” Canada interrupts. He slowly looks up at me with fear in his eyes. “I think WE’LL be the ones to start the war.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask. “Don’t you think we’ve all learned our lesson?”

“I’m not saying any of us will be willing to start it at first,” he says quietly, “but how far would you go to protect the ones you love? I don’t know about you… but I would stand in the middle of a battlefield to save my vrai amour.”

“Your ‘vrai amour…’ ‘True love’?” I guess. I’m not exactly fluent in French. When Canada nods, I reply, “France. Yeah, I’ve noticed something going on between you two. Just the way he looks at you…” My voice trails off. What are these words coming out of my mouth? Where are they coming from? These are not my words. I don’t talk like this to anyone!

“Spain looks at you the same way,” Canada tells me. I shake my head. He continues, “I know he loves you. Anyone with eyes can tell, and besides, I hear all the stories he tells Papa and Prussia.”

“…Stories?” Good Lord. Who knows what that Spaniard’s been saying?

Canada catches the worry in my voice. “Oh, n-no! Nothing horrible, I swear! It’s not stories, really… Just him talking about you. How cute you are, how proud he is of you, things like that!”

“Why are you doing this?” I question, finally looking at him. “Comforting me, telling me your ideas, giving me compliments. Why are you speaking to me?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Canada says with a calm smile. 

“Since when?”

“Since the day we met.”

I don’t exactly agree with him, but I’m in real need of a friend—I mean, HE’S in real need of a friend. Okay, okay… We’re both really lonely and practically invisible. Friends… “Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

His entire face lights up. “You-You’d like to be my friend? Oh, merci!” 

“I never said I’d be your friend,” I reply quickly. “I just think we should have some alliance… For when the Fading spreads across the world…”

“Lovi?” Canada asks quietly. “I-If I disappear before you do or if I start to… will-will you…”

“I swear I will do something about it,” I vow.

Canada pulls his knees up to his chest. “Y-You promise?”

Looking at Canada now, I think of Feliciano. The fear in the eyes, the wavering of the voice… I reach out and touch his arm. “I promise,” I whisper.

He smiles, then looks up at the building and jumps to his feet. “The conference is over now.” He looks at me. “Who are you leaving with?”

I stand too, and brush some dirt off the back of my pants. “Well, as you saw, Spain left with Belgium. And Italy’s apparently going somewhere with Germany so…” I shrug. “Guess I’ll be staying at home tonight. Alone. Again.”

Canada looks guilty. “Oh. I would invite you to go somewhere, but I’m leaving with Francis…”

“Oh.” I shake my head. “Of course. Yeah. It’s fine really, I’m used to being alone anyways.”

Sadness flashes across Canada’s eyes. “Oh, Lovi…”

The doors open behind us and the nations start flooding out. France takes a break from arguing with England and he waves Canada over. Canada looks at me once more, not quite sure what to do. “I’ll be fine. Really,” I promise.

He nods and, after a short pause, jumps forward and hugs me quickly. He lets go of me just as fast though, smiles, and runs toward France.

I watch him go. I see France take Canada’s hand, and I see them walk away, not even watching where they’re going, just looking at each other. Smiling.

I look back towards the building and see Italy intertwining his fingers in Germany’s, before Germany smiles down at him and they walk off.

Love. Why is it so freaking charming?

And why can’t I have it?


	5. Guilt

As soon as I get home, I’m instantly uncomfortable.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I HATE being home alone. Every ten seconds I check behind me just to make sure Russia isn’t there, and it seriously freaks me out. I mean, really. That guy has some issues. First of all, he hates everyone—not like me, because I don’t mean it. But this guy… No, he actually HATES everyone. As in, he wants to take us all over and kill us! 

Russia and Lithuania have their problems, that's for sure. In fact, if anyone has the most issues with Lithuania, it’s Russia—

Oh, my God. Russia kidnapped Lithuania!

It makes sense; the two have their problems, and Russia wants to kill us all anyways! But at the conference, Russia said he didn’t do it… And I believe him, because if he DID do it, Lithuania would be dead by now, like he said.

It could’ve been China.

It could’ve been England.

It could’ve been Germany… Like I said at the meeting, he never learns. Speaking of Macho Potato, I wonder if he’s brought Italy back home yet.

When I think about Italy, my heart tightens. No, I can’t say that Germany kidnapped Lithuania. It would hurt my little fratello too much, and I can’t do that to him.

I decide to check and see if he’s home.

So I quietly clean the mess I made—I got hungry, okay? And yes, I clean… sometimes!—lock the house up, and turn to walk to Feliciano’s. The second I turn, I hear a noise from the bushes.

………… Russia. God, how did he know?!

I stand still for a moment until a stupid little squirrel scurries from under the bush. I yell out and it runs away. Idiot squirrel. That’s what you get for scaring me. I hope you disappear next!

Better yet, I hope Russia makes you become one!

~~~~~~~~

The whole walk to Feliciano’s, I think about the possibility that it WAS Germany who did it. Could he be taking the nations? I don’t believe that Germany has anything against Lithuania, but then again, I don’t know either of them too well.

I turn the last corner. Right now, at this moment, my fear is that it IS Germany that took Lithuania, and that he’ll eventually hurt my brother. I really hope he loves Italy. If he does, he’ll convince Italy to join his side. It’s a horrible thought, but it’s better than thinking of Germany hurting him. That, I can’t handle.

Once I get to the door, I knock twice and wait for a response. Nothing happens. I smack the door a few more times. “Italy, are you there? Open up!” Why is he not answering? Please don’t tell me he’s busy… 

I sigh and reach under the doormat. The spare house key is hidden right there—of course he put it there; only Feliciano could do something so incredibly obvious. I unlock the door and step inside, only to realize that I am the only person in the house. Italy and Germany aren’t back yet.

I collapse onto the sofa and hold my head in my hands. I walked all this way for nothing, and to top it all off, the whole reason I came here doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m still alone. 

As I’m looking at the ground, I notice something out of the corner of my eyes. I turn my head and see a little DVD box sitting on a nightstand next to the couch. A label reads “Homemade Videos.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I grab the disc out of the box and pop it into the player on the television. The video starts half a second later, before I can even move away from the screen. It’s Italy and me, visiting Rome on our birthday a few years back.

“Ciao!” video-Italy says. “I’m so happy, ve! We’re finally home! We’ve been gone quite a while! And to make it better, it’s our birthday!” Italy turns the camera away from his face and aims it towards me. “What about you, fratello?” he asks. “Are you excited to be home?” 

On the screen, I smile a little bit. “Si.” I cover my mouth, which is full of pizza. “I’m actually very happy to be back.”

Italy appears on the screen again, next to me, probably holding the camera out in front of us. “And I’m happy to be here with my fratello! We’re home, it’s our birthday, we have pizza, and we’re together…” He hugs me. “What could be better?”

I fast-forward a little to stop the guilt I feel. After our trip to Rome, the video flashes to Italy sitting outside, behind a wall.

“Ciao, everyone,” he whispers. “I’m supposed to be at training right now, but it wasn’t going so well. So I’m hiding out here for a bit—”

“Italy?” I hear the voice before I see the face, but Italy quickly turns the camera to show Germany, who’s standing next to the wall with his arms crossed. “What are you doing out here? Go train!”

“It’s too hard,” Italy whimpers. “I can’t do it. I—I… I’m sorry, Doitsu!”

Germany sits down next to him and taps Italy’s knee. “You need to try. I know you can do it, Italy. You’re not nearly as weak as you may think. Just go back to training, okay?”

Italy smiles a sly smile. “But I can think of better things to do…” He leans forward and kisses Germany. “Ti amo, Doitsu,” he whispers.

I fall backward onto the sofa from surprise. Did my innocent, naïve little fratello just do that? Really?!

Germany seems as surprised as I am, but closes his eyes and pulls Italy towards him for another kiss. The camera falls and that segment of the video ends. I reach for the remote to pause the video. 

…What just happened? First off, I’m really confused and surprised, because I didn’t know my little brother could be that… smooth? No. Ugh, God, no.

But I also feel really guilty. Why? I hate Germany, but I just saw with my own eyes exactly how much Italy loves him.

I shake my head and walk down the narrow hallway. There’s a door that has, when you look closely, paint on the doorknob. That must be Italy’s art room.

I turn the knob—thank God the paint is dry—and walk into the dark room. When I flip the light switch, the guilt I feel from watching the videos grows stronger.

There are paintings of Holy Roman Empire everywhere.

It sounds creepy when I say it, but standing in that room, it’s actually very sweet. It’s not like an obsession, like the way Belarus is with Russia. Not every painting is of Holy Rome anyway, although most of them are. It’s just more like… memories, ways for Italy to remember him.

One painting in particular catches my eye. It’s not even a painting, just a sketch in a notebook lying on the ground. It’s Holy Roman Empire when he had to leave for war. There are sails and flags hung behind him, and he’s kissing Italy, back when Italy wore those dresses. Italy’s crying, and Holy Rome looks devastated to leave, probably because he knew he wouldn’t come back.

That blond hair, those blue eyes… Why can’t I stop staring at this picture? I feel like there’s some secret that could be revealed from it, but I have no clue what it is. God, I’m an idiot.

Maybe I’m wrong. This sketch probably has no significance to me. I might just be staring at it because right now, I want love more than anything else. Why can’t I have it? No, Italy gets it. Italy gets everything! He’s cute. He’s talented. He’s the one of us to survive!

Worst of all, he’s the one Spain wanted.

When we were younger, I wasn’t exactly the greatest child in the world. I was supposed to clean all the time, but I never did my job and I often got into trouble. Spain actually got very mad at me one time, and he went to Austria, BEGGING to trade me for Italy. It sickens me even to this day that he literally begged for him to take me away.

Well, Spain didn’t get his wish. Austria wouldn’t give up Italy, so he settled for me. Over time Spain became nicer and treated me a lot better, but I’m sure even now he still wishes he could have given me up. Actually, scratch that. 

He probably wishes he could get rid of me now.

Trust me, Spagna. There are times when I want to disappear too; times like this morning, at the conference, when you smiled at Italy. I felt invisible, and I know how you must have felt, since you had wanted Italy in the first place.

I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you. I really, truly am.


	6. It's Like Pangea All Over Again

The next day, we’re all called back to the conference building for another meeting. England called us all; the other continents want to deal with the Fading on their own.

We all sit in silence for a while, until Japan stands silently and clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking down at the table, “now we all know why we’re even having this conference. The other Asian countries have decided we should go on our own for awhile. They have discovered we would be able to decide on a plan if there are less of us. And we don’t argue as much.” 

France and England lower their heads guiltily. 

“Wait a second.” Germany turns to look at his ally. “Japan, there is no way this was all your idea. Whose idea was it really?”

Japan closes his eyes, so ashamed he is unable to even look at us. “Vietnam brought it up, but it is actually a good point.”

Everyone turns to look at Vietnam, the headstrong golden-eyed woman sitting near the rear end of the table with the Asians. She taps the handle of her paddle impatiently. “It IS true,” she mutters. “England and France argue too much to get anything done.”

“France isn’t too bad,” says another young voice. I look across the table from Vietnam and see Seychelles fingering her pigtails. “I mean, sure he can be a little creepy at times…”

“VERY creepy,” Austria mutters.

“But he has a good heart,” Seychelles continues. “I mean, he did raise me.”

“You stay out of this!” England shouts.

“I am not your colony anymore,” Seychelles says, looking right at England. “I’m my own country. You can’t exactly tell me what to do.”

“None of this applies to you! You’re barely a country!” exclaims the eyebrow idiot. 

Seychelles crosses her arms and squints her eyes while looking at the table in front of her. “You said the same thing to Sealand.”

“Before England starts yelling about THAT micro nation,” France interrupts, “let’s just move on.”

“By the way, it DOES apply to me,” Seychelles snaps at England. “I’m part of Africa, remember?”

“Speaking of,” France interrupts yet again, “Cameroon, what exactly is the reason for Africa breaking away?”

Cameroon stands from his end of the table and smoothes out his military shirt. “Our reason is exactly the opposite of the Asians, actually. They are very concerned for their well-being; we, on the other hand,” he says, motioning to the Africans next to him, “believe that everything happens for a reason. If we are to disappear, let us. Nothing we can do about that.”

America shakes his head. “Dude… That is the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard!”

All the nations start yelling at once. Cameroon shouts at America—which is something I never thought I’d see; Cameroon is so laid-back. England continues to argue with Seychelles from down the table, getting other nations caught in their disagreement, so they start siding with either England or Seychelles. Germany starts demanding to know why Japan is doing something he does not want to do.

I glance toward the Allies’ side of the table and see Canada, looking at me with misty eyes. Make them stop, his eyes plead.

I contemplate whether it’s worth it or not, then stand up and scream. “HEY! SHUT! UP!”

Everyone quiets down and stares at me.

“Stop the arguing!” I holler. “That’s the reason we’re being separated! And besides, you’re all scaring Canada!”

“Canada?” Cuba—where did he come from?—asks. “I thought that was America. Dang it, not again!”

A look of confusion crosses everyone’s face at the sound of Canada’s name. I look over at him once more, feeling sorry for him. Canada just mouths, It’s fine.

“Romano is right, though,” Belgium adds from next to Spain. I shoot her an angry look even though she’s agreeing with me. “We won’t get anywhere arguing. Unless you all want to lose more countries.”

“Japan…” Italy whispers. “You—You don’t have to leave us…”

Japan finally glances up at my brother and shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Italy, but I…”

“Japan knows what he is doing,” Vietnam retorts, standing. “And we all need to get going anyways, to OUR conferences.”

“Us, too,” agrees Cameroon.

After twenty minutes, the only continents still in the room are Europe, North America, and Asia. However, the Asian countries quickly file out and Japan follows, but not until after he gives Italy one more sad look. China looks upset to leave too, giving everyone small, sad smiles as he exits out the door.

We all lean back in our chairs, completely confused as to what our next move will be.

“Well,” America says after a moment. “I don’t care what those dudes do; I’m staying with you guys. I mean, we’ve all gotten through a lot together. Who says we can’t get through this? Besides, you all need a hero anyway!”

England shrugs. “Normally I would disagree, but I’m just glad some of us will be together.”

“I—I want to stay with the Europeans, too,” Canada says quietly.

“Me, too,” Cuba agrees.

Germany stands solemnly. “Meeting adjourned until next time?”

We all nod along with him. “Agreed.”

At this rate, soon we’ll all be separated country by country, and we won’t have to worry about anyone but ourselves.

I just really hope that doesn’t happen, because I can’t protect Feliciano on my own, no matter how hard I try.


	7. Plans With Italy

After Germany dismisses us, the European and North American nations start to leave the building and go about their normal, dull lives. Canada stays behind and I wait till we’re the only ones in the room to talk to him. 

“I—I’m really sorry everyone forgot you,” I say, leaning slightly against the table.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Canada replies as he walks to the window and looks out from it. “Happens all the time, eh.”

“Yeah, but…” I sigh. “Canada, you don’t deserve that. You haven’t done anything to them.”

“Maybe that’s why they forget me, because I never do anything,” he whispers. Then he turns to look at me and smiles. “And, you know, I really would prefer you call me Mattie.”

“Mattie?” I try the name out for size. “I don’t know. I like calling you Canada. It’s who you are.”

Canada—Mattie?—shakes his head. “Non, Lovi. Canada is WHERE I am. My name is Matthew. THAT’S who I am, eh. That’s why I call you Lovi, and not South Italy. Because it doesn’t matter what country you’re associated with,” he says, walking towards me, “especially with the Fading happening around us. Our countries won’t last forever.”

I scoff lightly. “Oh, believe me. I understand completely, Mattie.” 

Canada laughs and starts to leave the room with me. As we walk down the stairs, he stops and looks at me. “Merci, Lovi.”

I frown. “For what?”

“You’re the only country in there who never forgets my name.”

“Oh.” That IS true. I never had a reason to forget it. “W-Well, you’re welcome.” We start to walk down the stairs again and I laugh when a memory comes to mind. “You know, Italy always hated forgetting your name, so he called you Leaf-Land.”

He laughs along with me. “That actually doesn’t bother me. It’s kind of nice, eh, that he would give me my own nickname!”

“Well, Feli tries to be nice to everyone,” I reply as we open the lobby door and walk outside. “He really is… something.”

“He’s also headed this way,” Canada mutters. 

I look up and follow his eyes. Sure enough, Italy is running towards us—towards ME—and as soon as he stands before us, Canada gets shy again. Why shouldn’t he? He’s not as familiar with Italy as he is with me.

“Ciao, fratello!” Feliciano cries out, hugging me. He pulls away and turns to Canada. “And ciao… ah… C-Ciao, ve!”

Canada smiles sadly and looks at the ground. “B-Bonjour, eh…”

Italy smiles happily at him and turns back to me. “So, fratello, can I talk to you in private, pleeeeeeeeease?”

“O-Oh, you two talk,” Canada answers for me, slowly backing away. “I—I’ll see you later, Lovi. Italy.”

“Bye!” Italy waves after him. I wave too, except I don’t want my friend to go. I watch him leave to make sure he goes safely, until Italy jumps in front of me, blocking my view. 

“So! Fratello,” he continues. “We haven’t gotten together in a looooong time. I think we should go out and do something!”

I cross my arms and look at him quizzically. “Like what?”

Feliciano smiles up at the sky and sways back and forth. “Hmm… I don’t know. Anything!” His eyes shine when he looks at me. “Let’s go out for pizza.”

Pizza, huh? “Well… I do like pizza…”

“I know you do!” He reaches forward and grabs my arm. “Come on, fratello! Please? For meeeeee?”

Oh, my God. That stupid little pout face. It’s so powerful! And he’s offering pizza! “Ah! Fine. When?” I just give up.

Italy laughs happily. “Monday! That’s in two days, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Si, Italy. It is.”

“Great! I’ll see you Monday, then.” He turns to leave, but not before giving me another hug. “Ti amo, Romano! I—I’ll talk to you later…!”

But the voice is already fading away. Because now, I’m walking toward the small little lake a few feet away from the building. Or, actually, I’m walking toward the person sitting by the lake, muttering her head off.

It’s Seychelles, if you’re too stupid to figure that out on your own.

“What right does he have, to call me a micro nation…? I’ll show him.” She tosses a handful of dirt into the water. “I—I’ll show them all—”

Show us what? I want to say, but can’t, because Seychelles just gets up, kicks more dirt, and walks in the other direction. Jeez, what’s her problem? She’s hiding something, I can tell. I just don’t know what it is. I really don’t care, either. I never did like her much.

She can disappear next, for all I care.


	8. A New "Nation"

I guess you should be careful what you wish for, huh?

That's what I think anyway, when we all get together the next day at the Conference Building. All the nations got an anonymous phone call, saying we had to meet and that we should be ready to talk about our plans regarding the Fading.

So I walk into the Conference Room, a few steps behind Italy, right next to Spain, Canada a few steps behind me. As soon as England opens the door and is the first one in the room, he groans and turns back to us. "Well… This should be fun."

Russia pushes past England and looks into the room. "Ah, it's the little micronation! How are you, comrade?"

What?!

The rest of us push past England too (who falls to the ground from being trampled), and see Sealand standing at the front of the room in his little sailor suit. I recognize him from somewhere, but where—Oh, this is the idiot who complimented my tie at a World Conference… I don't like this kid so far. 

We take our seats, quiet and very, VERY confused, as England groans from his place on the ground. He struggles to get up, weak after all of us ran him over. "Sealand… What are you doing here?"

Sealand smiles, but I can see how red his eyes are. He's been crying. "I need to be a nation, d-desu yo!"

"We've already discussed this many times!" England argues as he stands. He walks to his seat, but stops in front of Sealand and leans down to match his height. "You are ONLY a micronation, and that is IT."

"Jā, Sealand," Latvia says, nervously glancing at Russia. “Why ARE you here? You don’t want to be a nation. There’s too many… um… obstacles!”

“I know about the Fading,” Sealand says with forced enthusiasm, “and I think I can help!”

England stands next to his chair, brushes some dirt off his clothes, and then sits down and scoffs. “Yes, well, we don’t need your help. We can handle this on our own.”

The micronation’s smile disappears. “If you can handle it so well, why did you let Seychelles disappear?”

Silence.

That’s all that follows Sealand’s comment.

Complete…

Silence.

“Ex-Excuez-moi?” France sighs in disbelief. “My little girl is gone?”

Sealand smirks, but it’s not cocky like when I do it. It’s sad. “Guess you can’t handle it on your own, huh?”

“What happened, dude?” America asks.

Sealand’s eyes lower to the ground. “She was supposed to visit me yesterday, but she never showed up. And Seychelles promised she’d visit. She NEVER breaks our promises! So I looked at the map, and saw her land fading. She had mentioned the Fading to me, so I… called you all here… to make me a nation.” There’s a hint of guilt in his voice.

“Seychelles gone?” Italy whispers to me. “Che cosa?” He buries his face in my shoulder. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“What does your becoming a nation have to do with Seychelles disappearing?” Germany adds curiously. A good question, but I think I already know the answer.

“She’s my friend.” Sealand looks up. “I thought if I became a nation, maybe I’d get stronger, and I could help her.”

I knew it. And I have to admit, that’s nice.

“I still won’t make you a nation,” England replies.

Sealand blinks, and then rests his arms on the table to push himself in England’s face. “But you have to! It’s your fault she’s gone! You let her leave with the Africans, and they’re not doing anything about this! You have no reason to NOT make me a nation! You’re just being a jerk!”

“S-Stop it,” Canada quietly begs.

“Dudes”—America stands—“let’s vote! I say we let Sealand become his own country! Who’s with me?”

A good number of hesitant hands go up in the air—France’s faster than anyone’s. Canada, Russia, Latvia, Germany, Prussia, Italy, Hungary, Austria. Spain. I raise mine, too. 

In the end, only England doesn’t have his hand up. America pouts at this. “Iggy! Come on, dude! Help a micro out! And besides, how can you say no to that face?”

England glares at Sealand, who folds his hands in front of his chest and produces a hopeful smile, eyes wide. It’s, I admit, adorable.

“No.” England continues to cross his arms and shake his head. “I just don’t think he’d be any help at all.”

Sealand shouts, “What?!” and he is followed by more screams at England. I look to my left and see Germany stirring in his seat, trying to hold in his anger. He takes a deep breath and stands. “How about this? We don’t make Sealand a nation—”

“I agree!” England shouts at the exact same time that France says, “I disagree.”

“BUT, we let him come to the conferences and act like a nation. He can help as much as he pleases.”

“I like this idea, desu yo!” Sealand smiles.

“As do I.” France.

We all look at England, who thinks about it for a moment. “Eh, all right. As long as he’s not a nation.”

Sealand happily skips over to England and hugs him tightly. “Thank you, you jerk of a brother, you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

England’s hands mold into fists. I understand his pain. “Get… him… off.”

“Sorry!” Sealand jumps back and just grins wider, looking a lot like someone who isn’t sorry at all. He looks around the room. “So where should I sit?”

We all know what seat is empty, but I don’t think Poland would be too happy to give up Lithuania’s chair. China’s is also empty, but that’s too close to England to be safe. We removed the chairs of the other Asians and Africans the day before. But we left Japan’s.

Italy stands up, smiles at Sealand, and walks to the front of the table, pulling out Japan’s chair. “You can sit here.” I know how hard it must be for Italy to replace his friend, but Japan’s not coming back to us. 

“Thanks, Italy!” Sealand cries as he collapses into the chair. “Okay! I’m now a ‘nation.’” He makes air quotes with his hands. “So what do we do?”

Prussia clears his throat. “Well, in my opinion, I think it would be useless if we came all this way and didn’t even talk about anything.” Realizing how serious this makes him seem, he adds quickly, “But that’s just one guy’s awesome opinion.”

“I agree. I’m going to sleep,” Greece calls from his end of the table.

England stands and walks to the front of the room. “Be patient, Greece. I have some ideas we can discuss.”

Greece shrugs. “I’m going to sleep anyway.” And that’s what he does; Greece rests his head on the table, using his arms as a pillow.

England glares at him. “That’s bloody brilliant.” He rolls his eyes and starts talking about his ideas that I’m sure are oh-so amazing, but I really couldn’t care less what he thinks, so I think I’ll zone out until a better nation takes over. 

As England talks and glares at Greece in the process, I switch my gaze to Sealand. This little child loves his friend so much; he’s willing to risk his life for her.

Who cares if he complimented my tie? I like this kid.


	9. Questions and Answers (and Secrets)

"If you could change one physical thing about yourself," Canada asks from across the table, "what would it be?"

I sigh and point to my hair. "I would get rid of this stupid curl. Because everyone thinks it's cute, so they always pull it, and it's ridiculous." I lean across the table we’re sharing at the small coffeehouse/ice cream parlor and whisper, “My turn. If YOU could change one thing about ME, physical or otherwise, what would it be?”

Canada takes a bite of his ice cream like he doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “Your confidence. It’s nonexistent.” Gee, is it noticeable? “What’s the craziest thing you’ve been asked to do that you DID?”

I scoff. “When Austria made me move in with Spain. No one had a clue how many problems it would create.”

Canada laughs quietly. “Lies.”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

I smile a little before asking, “What’s your favorite smell?”

“The smell of maple syrup, of course!” the Canadian answers happily. “Okay, let’s see… What’s your biggest fear?”

Not even a tough question. “Disappearing and being forgotten.” Since we’re talking about sad things now… “What’s the hardest thing you’ve been through?”

Canada smiles, but his eyes seem distant. “Having someone who raised me forget I exist all the time.” He shakes his head quickly, as if to forget a memory, and takes another bite of his ice cream. “What do you REALLY think about Sealand being a ‘nation’?”

I think about it for a quick second. “Honestly? I don’t think he can help while he’s still a micronation. I think… he’d actually be a big help if we made him his own country." 

Canada nods. “I think so, too. Your turn, eh.”

“When do you feel best about yourself?”

A huge smile appears on my friend’s face. “On Canada Day! Everyone always forgets about me, so I really love it when everyone in my country takes a day to just recognize and celebrate me!” 

Before I know it, I’m smiling too. I make a mental note to remember Canada Day next time, so he can celebrate with a friend.

“Okay.” Canada’s voice drops to a whisper. “What is the biggest lie you’ve told?”

I’ve told a lot of lies in my life, but the biggest one…? “ ‘No, I don’t love you.’ ” He taps the ice-cream cup with the side of his spoon and nods, understanding what I mean without me even having to explain. “What is something that has changed your life?”

Canada gets up and scoots into the booth next to me. Then he tackles me in a huge hug. “Being your friend.”

The compliment catches me off-guard, but I hug him back. “Thank you,” I whisper, and then we both let go and my best friend in the world looks at me as he replies, “No, thank you.”

I smile a little more and take a sip of my coffee. “So how is France?”

Canada cocks an eyebrow. “How is Spain?”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

I laugh and lean back comfortably in my seat. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s still an idiot, but…”

“You still love him,” Canada finishes for me.

My face heats up. “Mattie, stop that.”

“You’re not denying it, mon ami!”

“Oh, yes, I am—” But I’m unable to finish because my phone vibrates from my pocket. “It’s my phone,” I explain as I pull it out. 

My friend nods, looking innocent, until he grabs my phone the second I blink and jumps out the booth. “Hey!” I reach forward and try to grab my phone, but Canada takes a step away. “Give me my phone!”

He smiles mischieviously and sits back on his side of the booth, reading the message on my phone. "It's from Spain, eh" he tells me, his smile changing from one of a troublemaker to one of somebody who actually cares. "He wants to know if you want to watch a movie with him."

I sigh and sink lower in my seat, wanting to be invisible for the first time in my life. "Tell him thanks, but no thanks. I'm hanging out with my friend today." There's a moment of silence, so I look up to see the little Canadian glaring at me. "What?"

"Lovi." Canada shakes his head at me. "Lovi, Lovi, Lovi. You cannot pass this opportunity up! This—" he gestures to the phone "—is true amour!” I try to talk back but he replies to Spain’s message, his lips moving as he writes. “Oh.” His voice sounds a bit sad when my phone vibrates again. “He, ah, wants to watch the movie as soon as you can get home. Wait. Tonight? He can’t do that!”

“It’s fine, Mattie. We can hang out tomorrow.”

“No, no! I mean, he honestly CAN’T do that!” Canada sounds close to panic. “He’s—He’s busy!”

I roll my eyes. “If he was busy, why would he even bother asking to do something?”

“I don’t know! Lovi, you can’t go.” He looks at me sadly. “You’ll get heartbroken.”

“Okay. I’ve had ENOUGH of this!” I yell, jumping out of the booth and grabbing my phone. “You’ve done nothing but encourage me when it comes to Spain. And now, when he actually asks to spend the day with me, you get jealous, and even tell me I’ll get heartbroken! Why would you do that?!”

Canada looks up at me, wide-eyed and not caring about the other people in the room. “Non, Lovi! You don’t understand! You—You’ve got it all wrong, eh!”

I shake my head and begin to leave the coffeehouse. I stop at the door. “Whatever. See you at the conferences, Canada.”

He must notice that I didn’t say “Mattie” because he calls after me, “Lovi, s'il vous plaît. Let me explain what I meant!”

I almost turn around. I almost walk back to the table and apologize to the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had. But I don’t. I just curse under my breath and walk out without a second thought like I’m supposed to. After all, I am Lovino Vargas, the guy who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. The spoiled, selfish brat.

This is how spoiled, selfish brats act.


	10. Dreams

Now, I may not have mentioned this before, but I don’t live alone. I used to have my own house, but Feli broke in one day. He wanted to make me dinner, and for some reason he didn’t notice the fire, and… Let's just say, my house? Gone.

People always ask me, "Why don’t you live with your brother?" Well, I did, but I got sick of the pasta-for-every-meal rule and the crying when there was a scary movie on television and the nightly visits from Germany. So I gave Feli my key, packed my bags, and moved in with Spain. Why not? He offered, and hey, I already know my way around from when I was a kid.

So I can't exactly say I'm surprised to see Spain in the living room right when I walk in. Oh, no. What surprises me is something much different.

The characters in the movie he is watching have Italian accents. And not just any Italian accents, either. The smooth, rich accents of Italy's southern half.

I guess maybe that's why I ask, "What are you doing?"

Spain jumps a little at the sudden sound of my voice and turns to look at me, smiling like I'm holding a box of tomatoes in my hand. "Oh, you're home! I didn't notice!" You didn't hear me slam the front door or throw my phone on the table? "Lovi~" he sings, patting the empty seat next to him. "Come sit with me."

"I don't want to. Not until you tell me why you're watching Pinocchio." 

He smiles and looks back at the television as a group of kids run towards an amusement park, laughing, although they don't know what could happen to them. "Why not? It's such a cute movie!"

"It's about a wooden boy who lies, runs away, and doesn't listen to adults," I correct him, rolling my eyes. "How is it even remotely 'cute'?" As soon as the question escapes my lips, I regret it. I know what he'll say… 

"Because it takes place in Southern Italy~" Spain answers, making a really cheesy and cliché hand-heart. I groan and sit next to him, pushing the hand-heart away and blushing furiously. Spain laughs and drops his hands before adding, "Plus, it's all about dreams coming true!" I scoff quietly—or attempt to, anyway—but he hears me. "What's wrong, Roma? You don't have a dream?"

"Oh, I have dreams," I reply bitterly. "But they don't come true, I know that much."

Spain turns the volume lower as the scene continues on. "Well, they're not going to come true on their own! You have to work for it!"

"What's your dream?" ……… Merda. Why, Lovino? Why?

He sighs contently and puts an arm around me, pulling me closer. "My dream," Spain murmurs into my hair, "was to always have you by my side. And I worked for it!" He laughs. "I annoyed you until you came back. But I realized I still have to fight to keep you here."

Instead of answering, I stay silent. I, Lovino Vargas… am his dream? "I…" Words? What are those? Who needs "words"? I don't. So I just keep my mouth shut.

"Shh. It's okay, amor. You don't have to say anything." The complete and utter idiot buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Just… stay like this. Find a movie for us to watch."

I admit, it's kind of hard to concentrate with his breath on my skin, but I somehow manage to grab the remote and flip through some channels until I recognize a movie. "H-Hey. Spagna. Look at the movie. It's Spanish…"

I hear a muffled laugh. "It's Puss in Boots, isn't it?"

"…Shut up. Look," I say, pointing to the screen. "He's even got your battle axe."

Spain freezes up next to me. "Roma… change the channel."

I shake my head. "No, no, no. See? The cat… thing was in jail, and he used the guard's battle axe to break out—"

"Lovino." Spain rarely uses my full first name, and I can feel him shaking, so I stop talking and glance at him on my shoulder. "Por favor, mi Lovi… Turn it off."

My heart breaks a little as I slowly turn off the television and throw the remote onto the other couch. Spain looks at me for a second—no way it could've been longer—then sits normally and stares at his lap. "Are… Are you okay?" Instead speaking, he shakes his head. I frown, knowing the answer to my own question. "Hey, hey… What's wrong?"

Silence. Until… "I really messed up, Roma." His voice is barely above a whisper, but I hear him. I always do. "I did horrible things for selfish reasons, and… I wish I could take it all back, but I… I can't…"

"You're not selfish!" I cry out. If he is, then what am I? But Spain only sighs when I say this. "No, amor… You don't understand. I made really bad mistakes—"

"NO." He wants to interrupt me? Well, now it's my turn. I scoot closer to him as I continue, "Listen to me, and listen closely. You didn't make mistakes. SPAIN did."

He looks at me and frowns. "Am I not Spain?"

"Idiot." I move closer still and try to smile, which isn't as hard as it seems when I think about the friend I'm about to quote. "Spain is where you are. Not who you are. You're Antonio."

Antonio smiles at me. "Gracias, querido… You always make me feel better."

I shrug, trying to ignore how fast my heart is beating. "Well… That IS why I'm here, heh…" I want to say something much more intelligent than whatever it is I just said, but he places a warm hand on my cheek and caresses it, muttering something in Spanish. 

Then something happens that makes me want to punch someone. Antonio leans forward to kiss me, but he can't—

Because the front door bursts open. 

"TOOOOOONNNNNIIIIIII!!!!" 

My eyes pop open—when did I close them?—and I feel myself being pushed onto my back. I glare at the Spaniard lying on top of me. "What are you—?!"

"Shh." Antonio covers my mouth with his hand. He stares into my eyes, and I can practically hear what he's thinking: Lie down and stay quiet until they leave. I nod, eyes wide, and glance at the mirror on the opposite wall. I never appreciated that mirror, but now I do; if you're lying on the sofa, you can see who’s at the door behind you through the mirror, but they can't see you. So the albino and blonde have no idea we're there.

"Toniiii," the Prussian whines, looking around the foyer and dining room. "Come on out…!"

France places a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Mon ami, I don't think Antonio wants to come with us tonight."

Prussia swats his hand away. "Nein! He will go if I have to DRAG him there!" He cups his hands around his mouth and screams, "TONI! Come onnnn~ The strip club is waiting! Por fa-effing-vor, amigo~?"

Spain smiles and rolls his eyes, appreciating his friend's attempt. I hold back a groan, disgusted at how horrible the language sounds in a German accent. As we stay silent, Prussia yells out and storms into another room, still unable to see us. "I WILL find that guy…!"

Spain drops his hand from my mouth, so I take the opportunity to whisper, "Not too bright, are they?" He just smiles childishly and replies, "No."

Just as he says it, a pale hand grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him off of me. I jump up as we both look at the Frenchman standing behind the sofa, clutching a handful of Spain's shirt.

"I think we are MUCH smarter than you give us credit for, Antonio," France says, smiling. Prussia walks back in the room with a knowing grin. I stare at the wall and wonder exactly how much it would hurt to slam my head against it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

"You forgot about our night out tonight, didn't you?" France asks a few minutes later. He stands in front of us next to Prussia, and Spain and I keep our places on the couch—although I DID move a few inches away from him. 

Spain frowns. "Night out? Where are we going?"

"My guess is a strip club," I mutter.

Prussia laughs. "Kesesesese~ Nooo. We're only going to the bar!"

I shrug. "With you three, that's just as bad."

"Could I skip tonight? I wanted to stay with Lovi~" Spain flashes a smile in my direction. I roll my eyes.

"Whoa. Toni." Prussia holds up his hands in a "hang on" gesture. "Are you seriously ditching us for that loudmouth Italian?"

I throw my arms in the air, annoyed. "I'm RIGHT HERE!"

France smiles sadly. "Mon ami, I'm afraid you have to decide. Are you going to come with us or stay with Romano?"

"Just for the record, you know…" Prussia pouts, "we've been planning this all week." 

Spain's face drops. "'All week'?" He looks at me, a frown on his usually smiling face, and reaches out to touch me. "Lovi… I'm sorry, but…"

"Don't you dare leave," I snarl, pulling out of his reach.

But to my disgust, Spain stands up and grabs his jacket from France, who walks to the door with Prussia. Spain follows them, but as they walk to the car he turns to me. "Lo siento, amor. I really am so, so sorry."

I slowly look up at him, take a deep breath and whisper, "Andare all'inferno." 

He shakes his head, obviously angry with himself, and walks out, shutting the door behind him. I collapse deeper into the sofa and sigh. Stupid idiot. He knows that I hate being alone! And to top it all off, he would rather be with his friends than me!

I hate Antonio Fernández Carriedo. 

As I rub my eyes—not that I'm crying—the phone begins to ring loudly. I grab it from the side table and answer, "What?"

"L—Lovi? Is that you?"

I smile when I hear the familiar voice. "Mattie."

"Lovi! It IS you! Are you okay?" He sounds so concerned. It makes me feel almost loved.

"I—I'm okay… Could be better," I answer honestly, still buried in the seat.

There's a pause on the other end. "So Papa and Prussia picked up Spain, eh?"

Wait. "How did you—?" I start, but catch myself once I realize it. "You knew this whole time that they were going out, didn't you? That's why you said I'd get heartbroken, because Spain would ditch me."

"Oui, Lovi, that's exactly it, but that's not why I called! Something terrible has happened, eh."

I frown and sit up on the couch, listening closely. "Mattie, what is it?"

My friend takes a deep breath and whispers, "Greece is gone. And Turkey, too."


	11. The Party

I stay on the phone with Canada for awhile, but the second I hang up the phone rings again. This time I check the caller ID though, and when I see the name “Jones” flash across the phone’s screen, I groan as I answer. 

“Ciao, America—”

“Romano! Dude! Where’s Spain at?” I open my mouth to answer, but America cuts me off. “Y’know what? Not important. But hey, can you tell him something for me?”

I scoff. I’m gonna be telling him a LOT of “somethings” when he gets home. “Sure, America. What?”

“Tell him the hero says…. PARTY AT MY HOUSE TOMORROW!!! Five o’clock p.m., and you two HAVE TO BE THERE!!!!” He says it so loudly I have to push the phone away from my ear for a minute. “Well…” America continues, sounding a bit guilty, “Iggy says it’s not really a ‘party.’ It’s a last-minute, super-important conference, but after we talk about all the important junk, there’s going to be music and food and drinks and I thought, ‘That’s NOT a party?!’”

I walk over to the refrigerator and write “Conference tomorrow night, America’s house, five p.m.” on the magnetic notepad. Maybe instead of talking to the idiot when he gets home, I can just give him the silent treatment. It works just as fine. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

I literally don’t talk to Spain the entire day.

Okay, that’s a lie. At noon I jumped on the couch to watch television, and Spain stood in front of me, probably wanting to talk about last night. I just told him to move, and when he didn’t listen, I kicked him hard enough to give him a bruise. 

So, yeah. I talked to him once so far today. 

But as we walk to America’s front door, Spain attempts to get me to talk to him. “Lovi, why won’t you—”

But leave it to a little Italian to cut him off, I think as my brother runs towards us, getting out of Germany’s parked car from the side of the road. “FRATELLOOOOOOO~~~!!! Wait for meeee~!”

Spain sighs, defeated, and walks into America’s house. I stay behind to wait for Feli. When he finally reaches me, I ask, “Why do I have to wait for you, stupid?”

“I wanted us to walk into the house the same way we do everything else,” he replies happily, taking my hand. “Together.”

I nod at Germany, who walks up to us. “Why aren’t you waiting with him?” Germany just rolls his eyes, saying, “Hallo to you too, Romano.”

“Doitsu wants to wait for HIS fratello; Prussia,” Italy responds, his smile never faltering. 

At that moment, the three of us hear a crash from inside the house, followed by a “Dude, that was SO un-awesome!!!!”

“Something tells me he’s already inside,” I say with a smirk. Germany just responds with a blank look and walks into the house, muttering something about his “lastige bruder.” I look at MY annoying brother and give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Feliciano smiles and his face lights up brighter than the sun. I produce a half-smile, biting back the true smile that’s fighting to appear on my face. We turn towards the double-door at the same time and each of us grabs a handle, pulling the doors open in perfect sync. 

All the nations (well, the ones that haven’t disappeared and are part of Europe or North America) are gathered in the living room, and they turn to look at us as we walk in. Two people stand in the center of the room and look at us too, but more slowly than the others. And one of them doesn’t even look at me, but gazes at my brother instead.

Italy looks at that person and smiles, tears forming in his eyes. “J—Japan?” The old nation nods slowly, but my brother’s smile grows wider. “JAPAN!” He runs to his friend and tackles him in a huge hug. Japan blinks with tear-stained eyes, but then smiles too and hugs Italy back. “Italy-kun… I’m sorry I left.”

Italy shakes his head, pulling away but keeping his grip on his friend’s shoulders. “It doesn’t matter! You’re here now, ve~!” He hugs Japan once more, and then turns back to the other nation. “China!” He hugs him, too. 

I feel slightly awkward just standing here with all this hugging going on, so I make my way over to one of the walls and lean against it. “I—I don’t understand,” I say, looking at the two Asians in the room. “I thought you were staying with your continent. You know, following Vietnam’s orders.”

“It was a foolish idea, aru,” China responds. “We thought the other Asian countries wanted to keep everyone safe, like they told us. But we both noticed they only care about themselves, aru.”

Japan nods again, but this time it’s sad. “Hai. You see, when Greece disappeared, Turkey went after him—as much as the two fight, they are actually very close. But when Turkey’s land began to fade…” He takes a deep breath. “When we realized Turkey had been taken, the others did not do anything about it.” 

“Sad, but true,” China agrees. “They practically said ‘good riddance,’ aru.”

Germany walks to his ally and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Japan. But you two are here now, where you belong.” As everyone nods, he continues, “With your help, all of us can stop these disappearances, once and for all.”

Japan and China smile, and the other countries cheer, happy with Germany’s speech. America stands up from his spot on the couch and claps to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay! Look, guys, there’s plenty of time to prepare for the Fading and all. But tonight… we celebrate to welcome back our friends!”

Everyone cheers louder, and Prussia begins to blast music from America’s stereo. A few nations run to the kitchen, pulling out food that they brought and setting them on tables. America high-fives China and Japan, saying, “Welcome back, dudes!” But I’m looking at the other blonde sitting behind them, the one who claimed his spot on a little chair near the corner, the one who is mouthing to me, I have something to tell you. I begin to walk up to him but someone jumps in front of me, blocking my way. I glare at the person with as much hatred as I can, which isn’t too hard. “Move out of my way, idiota.”

France sighs. “Mon petit Romano, are you truly angry with Antonio?”

I roll my eyes. “Oui, mon petit idiota. I am,” I mock him in the best French accent I can come up with. “And I don’t want to talk about it with YOU. I want to go talk to Canada.”

France gasps and looks over his shoulder before looking back at me. “Oh, Canada! That’s right, I have to speak with him, too!” Without another word, he runs off to my friend. I shrug. There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m talking to Canada with France there, so I head into the kitchen to grab some food. I can talk to Canada in a little while. 

When I open the door that leads to the kitchen—what kind of house has a kitchen in its own separate room—Prussia bounces up to me. Literally bounces. As in, he’s jumping around the room. “What’s up, little meatball?” he slurs, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “How are you doing this fine, fine evening?”

I flinch when I realize how strong the smell of beer is on him. We’ve only been partying a while, and he’s already drunk? Forget that idea, he was probably drunk before he got here. “What do you want, dannato idiota? Why is the ‘awesome you’ bothering to talk to the ‘loudmouth Italian’?” I ask, throwing his words from the night before back in his face. 

But Prussia just laughs, totally unfazed. “Kesesesese~ You’re a cocky little thing, aren’t you?” I shrug; it’s true. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know that Francis and I will be kidnapping Toni again tonight. Bad Touch Trio Night Out, Part Two!” he says, pumping a fist in the air.

I shrug again. “Do what you want. Italy and I have plans anyway. We’re going out for pizza.”

“Aww~” Prussia pinches my cheek and my face heats up. “Such innocent little Italians!”

I slap his hand away. “I’m not that innocent,” I mutter, pouting like I would when I was younger. 

He winks. “So I’ve heard, kesesese~” Before I can ask what he means, Prussia bounces away, over to Austria. I sigh from relief when he leaves, and I walk over to the counter to see what America has to eat. It looks like he mostly has anything that can be deep-fried, hamburgers, and there are trays of food with small flags on them, showing what country brought them. I recognize some little chocolates from Belgium, wurst from Prussia (since Germany wasn’t holding a tray when he walked in), and some burnt scones from England. Forget that. I just grab a burger and throw a tomato on it for good measure, then take a cup of some soft drink—probably Coke—and head into the living room again.

This time, Canada is sitting alone. He smiles a little when he sees me and I walk over to him, kneeling on the ground in front of him since he took up all the room on the chair. “So what did you want to tell me?” I ask.

The little smile on his face disappears. “O-Oh. Right. Well, Lovi, it’s about the Fading…”

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “Nope. We’re not talking about that. You heard America. Tonight we celebrate! Here.” I put my plate in his face, waving my burger back and forth. “Eat the burger.”

Canada hesitates but takes the burger anyway, which seems out-of-character to me—but I push that thought away. He takes a bite and looks at me. “Non, Lovi. I know what Al said, but this is very important, eh!”

I look around, making sure no one is eavesdropping, and nod. “Okay. Tell me.”

Canada takes a deep breath and bites into the burger again. “I think I know who’s in charge of the Fading, eh.”

My eyes grow wide. “Mio dio, Mattie. Who is it?”

“I—I’m not sure if I’m right, but if I AM… he’s here tonight.” Canada looks down at his lap, probably too scared to look up in case he sees said person. 

“Mattie, look, you have to tell me,” I say softly. Canada just pales. “Hey. If you’re right, we have to talk to this person and ask if it’s true. We can accuse them in front of everyone!” Then I notice that my friend is getting paler and paler by the second. “Mattie. Are you okay?”

“I—I don’t feel so great, Lovi,” he admits, looking up at me. I put a hand to his cheek and frown. “Mattie, you’re really clammy. I think you should go home and get some sleep.”

Canada just stares at me. “But… I need to tell you who it is…”

I shake my head. “I don’t care. What I care about is your health. Go home and get some sleep. France!” I wave the nation over, since he was standing not too far away, and look back at my friend. “France can drive you home. Just relax. Watch some TV or go to sleep or something. You can tell me who it is tomorrow, or if you’re really worried, you can text me when you wake up from your rest.”

Canada doesn’t look too happy with this idea, but he nods as France joins us. “You called, Romano?” France asks. Then he looks at Canada and his face softens. “Amour, are you all right? You look ill.”

“I’m just not feeling too great,” Canada says again. “It’s probably nothing; just Al and his greasy food, eh...” He puts the burger down and places the plate on the floor, next to the spot where I put down my drink. France nods understandingly and tells us, “I’ll be waiting in my car.”

When he walks out the door, Canada smiles at me. “Thank you, Lovi, for caring about me.” I lean forward and hug him, feeling myself smile as I tell him, “I can say the same to you.” I walk Canada to the door and watch to make sure he gets to France’s car safely. They drive away and I wave after them, then close the door and look at the party unfolding in front of me. I can only think of one thing.

I know whoever’s doing this is evil, but how evil can someone be if he can stand to be in the same room as the “friends” he’s taking?


	12. Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

At about eight o’clock, I demand that we leave. Every time I look at a nation, I wonder if I’m looking at the person responsible. And it makes me sick. I try to find Feliciano, but I don’t see him. So I just send him a text that reads, “Going home. Call me when you get there.” Feli responds a moment later: “Ve, ok! Pick u up @ 9!!!”

Then I make my way over to the next room, where I know Spain is. Somehow he’s managed to stay sober the entire time, unlike pretty much everyone else. It’s actually slightly impressive… I shake my head, dismissing that thought, and grab his shirtsleeve, tugging it to get his attention. “I want to go home.”

He looks at me and nods silently, knowing I’m still angry and not wanting to make it worse. So I wait by the door as he tells everyone goodbye, and we get in the car for a silent ride.

Well, for a few minutes, anyway—until he opens his stupid mouth.

“Lovi…” Spain sighs. “Just how long are you going to ignore me?” I narrow my eyes and look out the window. I don’t need to answer. But I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye. “Fine, then.” And he leans back in his seat and releases the wheel. My eyes flash as I turn back to him. But because I’m still not talking, he just smiles wider and closes his eyes.

I can’t take it anymore. “EYES ON THE FRICKING ROAD!” I scream, reaching over and putting his hands back on the wheel for him. Spain opens his eyes and sits correctly in his seat, and I sigh from relief. He cracks a smile and whispers, “You talked to me~”

I can’t help it; I laugh at how idiotic he is. He risked a car crash just to make me talk. He glances at me and I glare back, warning him to look at the road and not me, but he sees my smile.

He knows I’m not mad anymore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Spain hangs out with his probably-drunk friends at who-knows-where doing who-knows-what, I wait at home for my brother. Spain seemed hesitant to leave at first, knowing how much I hate being alone, but he had no problem leaving once Prussia got there. So I sit at the table, tapping out a rhythm with my fingertips, thinking about how nice it’ll be to actually spend time with my little brother again. Whenever we make plans, he ditches me for you-can-probably-guess-who. But not this time, I think as I listen to the clock tick.

Which makes me wonder, how long have I been waiting for Feli? I guess I never realized how quickly I get ready. Nevertheless, I turn around and look at the clock hanging on the wall: 9:40.

He said he’d be here at nine. That was almost an hour ago.

With the Fading going on, I get a little worried, so I run into the living room and grab the phone, dialing Italy’s number. He answers on the second ring, but I start pacing.

“Ve~! Ciao, fratello!”

Thank God he’s okay. So why isn’t he here? “Ciao, Feli. Where are you?” I ask in Italian.

He follows my lead and soon, our whole conversation is in our native language. “At Doitsu’s house, of course!”

I stop pacing and raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me? Aren’t you picking me up?”

My brother pauses. “About that… I—I can’t go.”

My ears must be playing tricks on me. Feliciano did NOT just cancel our plans. “And why not?” I don’t even try to hide my disgust.

Italy’s voice breaks and he switches to English. “V-Ve, mi dispiace, but he invited me over! And I think he’s drunk, so I want to make sure he’s okay! Per favore, try to understand…”

But I don’t understand. He can’t ditch me. Not again. But he is. I shake my head. “Whatever, Feli. I hope you two have a real nice time.”

“Fratello—!”

I hang up and violently put the phone on its base. Unbelievable. I get all excited to actually spend time with my brother, and then he ditches me? WITHOUT A WARNING? And from the way he was talking, he probably wouldn’t have called me if I hadn’t called first. 

Usually I don’t care, because most of the time Spain is here to cheer me up with his idiocy. But he’s out with Prussia and France, and I’ve heard all about what they do when they go out. There’s no way he’ll be coming home anytime soon. 

I glance once more at the clock that I’d stared at earlier. It’s ten p.m. I sigh and collapse on the sofa, realizing I’m alone for the rest of the night. 

At least, that’s what I think, until I hear the door open. And I remember what time Spain said he’d be home… Ten o’clock. The front door slams closed and I jump a little in my seat, looking over at the foyer. A familiar shadowy figure stands there, his face twisted with confusion. “Romano…?” Spain asks, obviously wondering why I’m still home. He walks out of the shadow and smiles at me. “Hola~ How was it?”

I pause. Do I want to tell him? “He… cancelled to stay with Germany again.”

Spain frowns. “That was not very cute of him. Lo siento, amor.”

“It's fine... I just—” I stop suddenly and look away. “N-Never mind. Forget it. It's stupid, really.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. What is it? You can tell me anything; you know that, Romano...”

I can feel a slight blush fall over my cheeks. “I-I know... It's just that I hate being alone, it absolutely terrifies me.”

The Spaniard cocks his head to the side. “Really?” He walks over to sit down next to me with a concerned look. “Why didn't you just call me?”

I bite my lip and turn away. “I didn't think it was important enough to bother you... I’m sure you were having SO much fun with your stupid friends…”

Spain sighs. “Romano... When it's you, it's never bothersome. You don't deserve to be alone; I believe you've suffered enough loneliness for a lifetime.”

I scoff lightly. “Yeah, no kidding. It's horrible; people leave and leave, and eventually you give up on letting people in. You don't know who will stay, because even if they tell you they will, words mean nothing.” 

Why did I just say that? I don’t act like this with anyone…

He gazes at me, obviously trying to make eye contact. “Did you just pour your heart out to me?”

I start to shake my head, but stop and shrug. “I have a heart, you know...” Then I go back to staring out the window to my right, too ashamed to even look at him.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Of course you do. I've never doubted that, Romano. You are complex and difficult, but you are NOT a bad person. You have a good heart; you are loyal, and so awfully cute.”

Why is he lying to me? These compliments are not true! “Complex and difficult, I will admit. Loyal, not so much, but I'd like to be. And cute...” I laugh weakly. “I still deny that.”

“Well, you shouldn't...” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Spain look at me as I stare out of the window and he reaches over to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. “You are still the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on.”

I look down at my lap and blush deeply. What is wrong with him today? “S-Shut up, idiota. That's not true…”

“Have I ever lied to you before, Romano?” he asks with a gentle and sweet smile that kind of makes my heart melt. When I shrug, answering No without speaking, Spain continues, “Then why would I now? Yes, you have your flaws, but...” he laughs, “as do I! I am pretty sure I have more."

I shake my head furiously at this ridiculous joke. “No way; that's impossible. I can’t possibly see that YOU could have flaws—” Once I realize what I’m saying, I stop suddenly, cover my mouth, and cross my arms quickly.

But Spain merely laughs as he leans back on the couch, hands behind his head. “Oh, you have no idea, Romano. I've done bad things in my life that I am not proud of.”

I look up nervously when I hear this. “What kind of bad things…?” 

Spain just stares at me as the smile fades away, and he closes his eyes. “When we were watching that movie and you told me about the battle axe, so many memories came back to me… If you knew how much blood I have on my hands, how many people I killed with that weapon, you would never speak to me again.”

Okay, if anyone else told me that, I would walk away and never look back. But this is the person who raised me! “You raised me when I was an obnoxious little child,” I mutter, looking at the ground and shuffling my feet. “Why would a bad past change my respect for you?”

The Spaniard beside me shrugs. “I guess I'm always worried about how I come across to you... Maybe I'm... afraid.” He opens his eyes, but only to stare down at his lap with a tiny, yet sad smile.

I scoff. “What could YOU possibly be afraid of?” The idea of something scaring the man who taught me how to be brave scares me, too, because I’ve never known he was afraid of anything.

But then he lets his biggest fear be known: “Losing you.”

It takes me a second to recover. “R-Really? Because that's my biggest fear too…” I admit, slowly looking up at him, “losing you.” Spain glances up again and looks at me, but doesn’t reply. So I keep going, afraid I’ll be too scared to admit it all later. “It ties into the whole loneliness thing actually... I'm scared that you'll leave me one day, but not soon. And the longer you put it off... the more heartbreak...”

“No…” He shakes his head and leans over to let a finger caress the curve of my jaw. “That’s my fear... that someday you’ll have had enough of my… everything and walk out the door to never speak to me again, since I know how much you dislike being hugged and touched. But I simply can't stop being so affectionate towards you…”

“I don't mean to push you away, really. It's just, whenever you touch me, I feel warmth.” I want to stop. I want to shut up and never tell him these things. But I’ve already started, so I take a deep breath and keep going. “I feel at home, wanted, loved, things I never feel any other time. I don't want to cause any more heartbreak by falling in love with you but…” I close my eyes and sigh. “I can't help it.”

Spain blinks a few times, before grabbing my sides to pull me onto his lap, and the sudden action causes me to open my eyes. He gazes into my eyes when he rests his forehead on mine. “Let's not cause any more heartbreak, then… I'm so… so desperately in love with you.”

I don’t know whether I want to smile or cry, but I can already feel the tears coming, so I shut my eyes again to stop them from falling. “Just please, please don't leave after telling me that.”

“Shh, how could I?” He slides his hands under my shirt and runs them up and down my back as he whispers, “I love you…”

Who cares about hiding my tears? I need to cry now, but for so many reasons. I want to cry from happiness… but also from fear. But for now, I rest my head on the Spaniard’s shoulder and let my tears fall. “I-I love you too… so, so much.”

Already knowing what my tears are for, Antonio wraps his arms around me and holds me closer. “Shh, don't cry, amor… It's okay. I'm not going anywhere.”

“You're going to go one day…” I whisper. “Everybody does. No one bothers to stay with me.”

“No!” He gently cups my face in his hands to make me look up. “I swear to you, I won't ever leave you.”

“Why would you lie to me like that? You already tried to get rid of me once…” My eyes dart to the side. “You tried to trade me for Feliciano.”

The warmth in Antonio’s bright eyes disappears, replaced with something else completely. Guilt. He looks like an innocent child who knows he’s done something terrible. “That's what I told you! I have flaws, I'm stupid, okay? I made a terrible mistake, I know that, but Feliciano means nothing to me.” He shrugs. “Feli is cute, yeah, but you are so much more! You are the sun to my world, for god’s sake, Lovino!”

All I can think is, He said my name. He’s only ever done that if he feels extremely guilty about something. “It's okay… I-I believe you.” And I do. But apparently Antonio thinks I’m lying, because he sighs and throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. “See? I'm as terrible as you say I am…”

I shake my head and frown, hating myself for telling him these lies when I was younger. “You're not terrible. You were never terrible. In fact, you're probably the most wonderful person I know…” I blush, obviously embarrassed.

He glares at me—an expression I haven’t seen in a long time—but then he pulls my whole body closer, so our chests are barely touching. “Then kiss me.”

I hesitate and subconsciously find myself looking at the mirror on the wall, wondering if anyone’s planning to barge in this time. Antonio senses my fear and laughs quietly, then leans down a bit and whispers in my ear, making me shiver, “Don’t worry, amor. No one’s going to bother us this time.”

He pulls away to stare into my eyes and I stare back, losing any thought the moment I see that brilliant green. Although I’m still very afraid of losing the wonderful person sitting in front of me and at first I’m very hesitant, I lean in and kiss his lips softly.

And I wonder why I was too afraid to kiss him before. Because the second our lips touch, all my fears and insecurities wash away.

Antonio leans into the kiss, tilting his head slightly, and he runs both hands through my hair, being particularly careful of the curl. Much to my disappointment, he pulls away once we both need air, but he trails kisses down my neck, muttering in Spanish. I don’t pick up much, but I do hear him whisper, “Te amo más que a nada en el mundo…” 

My breath catches when I realize what he just said: I love you more than anything in this world. 

That little spark that went off in my heart the first time he said “I love you” now turns into a full-out flame, and I grab the top of his shirt, pulling Antonio up so I can kiss him again. And it turns out that he was right. 

No one bothers us this time. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I pull open the door to the Conference Building, I sort through my memories, trying to figure out if last night actually happened. Or maybe I just imagined it all. That wouldn’t surprise me. That was actually the theory I believed at first, that I made it all up in my head, but that idea quickly vanished when I woke up and saw whose bed I was lying in, then felt all the pain. 

Antonio wasn’t there, but he left a note saying France called for an emergency meeting last-minute. He made me breakfast and put it on a tray next to the bed, saying to eat and get dressed and just get to the Building when I could, but not to rush or anything. He’d even included two small pills on the tray with the food. I swallowed them in a millisecond, and I don’t know how, but the pain quickly disappeared.

So now I climb the stairs to the second floor of the Conference Building, and I realize exactly how completely silent it is. Other than my footsteps ascending the staircase, there are no sounds. I don’t know whether I should be concerned or happy. I still have happiness in my system because of… certain events… so I think I’ll stay happy.

I mean, if no one’s arguing, it must be a good sign! Right?

Once I get to the Conference Room Door, I push it open and actually smile when I see the nations. “Ciao, everyone! How are you all today?”

“Romano.” Germany says my name and looks at me, but his eyes glaze over. 

Taking this as a greeting, I reply, “That’s the name I go by! I’m great today, idiot. Thanks for asking, really!”

“Fratello,” Italy whispers, his expression matching Germany’s.

“That is another name I go by,” I say, pointing to my brother, “but I already told you how I am! Anyone else feeling great today? Come on. Tell me.”

“Lovi.” As I look in his direction, I see that Spain’s smile and happy demeanor is gone, like last night never happened. Or like something so extremely terrible took all his happiness away. “Someone’s been taken.”

I blink from surprise, but then decide it’s not so surprising and shrug. “That’s okay. I’m sure we can get them back!” I look around the room, but I don’t see anyone missing, any chair empty or holding someone else instead of its rightful owner. “Who was it?”

Spain closes his eyes and replies slowly. “Look closer.”

So I do; I look at all the chairs, each and every one, and I realize I skipped a seat before. An empty seat at the very front of the table on the Allies’ side.

Canada’s chair is empty, and I didn’t even notice.


	13. Golden Eyes

It’s hard to speak for a few minutes, so everyone respectfully stays quiet. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be! My best friend… gone? I open my mouth to reply, and I do, but it takes a few seconds. “H-How?”

“We don’t know,” France tells me, only able to stare at the table. “It shouldn’t be possible. He was fine when I dropped him off at home…”

“Why didn’t you stay with him?!” All I can do at this point, all I want to do, is scream.

France looks up at me and frowns, and I see his tear-rimmed eyes. “Romano, you have no room to talk… You were the one who told him to leave.”

I walk over to my seat and collapse in it, holding my head in my hands, trying so hard to understand. “I did this to him…” I mutter aloud, not wanting it to be true. “I did this…”

Memories flood into my head all at once. The first time I saw Canada, when we were a lot younger. France came over to visit Spain, and he brought the forgotten Canadian along. Watching the Olympics with a few other nations at America’s house a couple of years ago. Now I remember; Feli’s and my team won volleyball against America’s, and Canada had been… cheering for me. The day he finally talked to me, when I promised to save him from the Fading. I promised… I promised…

“I promised.” I didn’t even mean to say the words, yet they were loud and strong. Any nation who had been staring at the table now looks up at me. Knowing I have everyone’s undivided attention, I stand and look around. “That kid… is my best friend. He is one of the few people I actually care about in this godforsaken world.” I walk over to the world map and stare at the country of Canada, which is just a shade lighter than the other countries. So wherever my friend is, he’s hurt. “No.” I spin around and look at everyone again. “I promised him I’d help him if this every happened!”

“Dude,” America cries out, “what do you expect us to do?”

“Fight!”

My voice is unrecognizable. It takes a minute to realize I was even the one who said it. Everyone else seems just as surprised as I am. The Italian brothers are known for surrendering, yet one is standing here, telling them to do the opposite. 

England stares up at me. “‘Fight’?”

I nod. “You heard me! People are getting killed! Our friends… our lovers…” I look at Poland, who lowers his head, “…and those we helped raise!” I glance at a guilty-looking Japan before turning my attention to America. “Our brothers.” America looks away also. I just continue. “We can’t let this happen! We can’t stand by and watch them get hurt!” My hands mold into fists. “That’s the other continents’ jobs.”

Prussia shakes his head. “Mein Gott, Romano. We can’t get away with this!”

“We can’t?” I ask. “Really? YOU can do anything! Who isn’t a nation anymore…” I gesture wildly, “…and who’s still here?!” 

A smile creeps onto the Prussian’s face. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“Look.” I sigh and lean against the wall next to the map. “I know you all don’t agree with me. And you don’t have to do this. You get a choice. Join me…” I point to the map, “…or join the other continents. But please be careful; I don’t want this map to be blank in a few months.”

Japan nods. “Fight.”

Prussia smiles. “Fight.”

Italy throws his fist in the air. “Fight!”

Germany takes Italy’s fist and holds it as he lowers my brother’s hand. “We fight… for each other.”

After that, almost the entire room breaks into a chorus of people shouting “fight.” I have to wonder if this is true, but the proud smile on Spain’s face tells me this is really happening. I feel a smile was over my own face and I stand tall, realizing I’m about to change the world. Iceland stands and everyone gets quiet. He walks over to me, tears shining in his bright eyes, and shakes his head. “Romano… I can’t…” He glances at the map next to me. “I have to go to the Asians... I need to be with Hong Kong...”

I nod. “Don’t worry. I understand.” Iceland turns to wait by the door and I ask, “Anyone else?”

After a moment’s hesitation, a few nations get up to join Iceland. Bulgaria, Denmark, Monaco, Romania, Cuba. Netherlands and Luxembourg get up, too. I watch Belgium, but she doesn’t leave her seat. “You’re not coming with us?” Netherlands asks his sister.

Belgium shakes her head. “I love you both, so, so much, but… I’m doing the right thing.”

“Speaking of…” Switzerland gets out of his chair and kneels next to the young girl to his left. “Liechten, you have to go too.”

Liechtenstein’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. “But… big brother…”

Switzerland takes her hand. “Please, Lili. You need to go with the Africans. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’d rather you stay safe and MAYBE get taken than hurt yourself learning to fight. Go to the Africans.”

“I’ll take her,” Cuba offers before Liechtenstein can respond. “That’s where I’m going.” Switzerland nods, and Cuba walks over and picks the girl up as she screams. “No! No, big brother, I don’t want to—NO!”

“Get her out,” her brother says quietly. Liechtenstein continues to scream as Romania opens the door and leads the other nations out. When the door closes and all is silent, I look at those who are still here and take a deep breath. “Here is all I ask of you. No more country names.”

Austria frowns disapprovingly. “But that’s so casual—”

“ONLY human names!” I interrupt. “Or you leave now.” He doesn’t speak up again, so I keep talking. “But I don’t know all your names, so go around the table and say them. You don’t have to say your last name, only your first, but just give me an idea of who you REALLY are.”

Everyone glances at each other nervously, probably deciding whether or not they want to share something as personal as their names. Our real human names are what make us actual people and we have personal ties to them, and we’re not all close enough to share these details willingly. So I start to think no one will speak up, until America stands and places his palm on the table. “Alfred. I’m Alfred F. Jones.”

Sealand jumps up and copies his actions. “And I’m Peter Kirkland, desu yo!” 

And then England. “Arthur.”  
“Francis.”  
“Yao.”  
“Ivan.”  
“Natalia.”  
“Katyusha.”  
“Feliks.”  
“Eduard.”  
“Raivis.”  
“Berwald.”  
“Tino.”  
“Lukas.”  
“Vash.”  
“Emma.”  
“Antonio.”  
“Roderich.”  
“Elizaveta.”  
“Feliciano Vargas~!”  
“Ludwig. No last name.”  
“Gilbert Beilschmidt, but you guys knew that!”  
“Kiku.”

My head spins from an information overload, but I take a deep breath and put my hand down too, at the head of the table. “I’m Lovino Vargas, not Romano, and not Southern Italy, because countries don’t matter anymore. You all better learn that now.”

Everyone nods. Ludwig leans forward on the table, to see me better, I guess. “Roman—Lovino.” He catches his mistake and closes his eyes to mentally remind himself of my name, then opens his eyes again. “Lovino. I think we should all get a safe house. It is, as the name states, safer.”

Arthur tilts his head to the side. “A safe house? Do you have any idea where we can get one?”

The German glances at his brother with a stony expression. But Gilbert just smirks at all of us. “Go home and pack for Nazi camp, boys and girls!” That makes everyone smile, and it finally dawns on me what exactly we’re doing as I smile, too. We are a team now; we’re a family.

But I can’t help but wonder how many people would have been surprised if Mattie had been here to say his name. I might be the only person in the room who knows who Matthew Williams is.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

An hour later, a lean figure glides down the corridor of a dark castle hidden in the countryside of an isolated nation. The figure’s dark black cloak flows behind it, and the matching hood covers every feature of its face. The villain—called the Master by its followers—walks to a wooden door that opens without having to be pulled by the handles. Two nations stand in the throne room, dressed in grey clothing, and look up as their Master approaches with their glowing gold eyes, a beautiful side effect of the Master’s brainwashing procedure.

“The team is now an army,” Turkey says as his Master sits upon the throne.

The Master sighs. “Nonsense. An army has a chance of winning. THEY do not.”

“They’re getting a safe house,” Egypt adds helpfully.

Another sigh from their leader. “You act as if I wasn’t there. I know what they are doing!”

Egypt falls to his knees. “I’m sorry, Master. What will you have me do as my punishment?”

The figure considers this for a moment. “Go whip Michelle.”

Both of the nations pause in confusion. “M-Michelle, Master?”

“Seychelles!” the Master screams. “Go punish Seychelles!”

As Egypt flees the room to carry out his Master’s request, Turkey looks curiously at the figure. “Master, why didn’t you just say ‘Seychelles’?”

The Master looks up at him from the throne and smiles darkly. “Because our dear little Lovi wants to use our human names. That is what we’ll do for our prisoners.”

Turkey just nods solemnly. “Of course, Master. Is there anything I can do while Egypt is with Sey—Michelle?”

“Yes, actually.” The Master pulls out a hand mirror from under his throne and looks into it. The glass starts to ripple like waves before the image changes to show the nations who did not join Lovino’s team, walking together on a quiet street, probably on their way to the other continents.

Turkey frowns. “Ex-Excuse me, Master. I-I don’t think I completely understand…”

The Master looks up and stares into Turkey’s eyes with intense focus. “I want you to get them.”

Turkey’s gold eyes suddenly flash and glow brighter as he smiles. “With pleasure.”


	14. Enjoying the Safety

Let’s just say, the helicopter ride from New York City to Berlin, Germany? Not fun. That ride itself was about nine hours long, plus we had a layover in France. But once we got to Berlin, everyone was so relieved that we PILED off that helicopter…

…and then we drove for another FIVE HOURS. Imagine being packed into a small space with people you don’t really like for fourteen hours!

So now we sit in the back of this van-truck-hybrid thing and wait as we’re driven to the safe house. Some Nazi descendant is in the driver’s seat, and I think my brother recognizes him, because Feliciano freezes up between me and Ludwig whenever the driver looks through the rear-view mirror. I lean closer to him and whisper, “Feli… You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stays frozen.

Ludwig touches Feliciano’s hand. “Liebling, go to sleep.” My brother nods and closes his eyes, resting his head on the German’s shoulder. Ludwig closes his eyes too and leans against the metal wall behind us. I look at Elizaveta, who spoke to Gilbert earlier and obviously knows where we’re going. She glances my way and I meet her eyes, which are filled with ice and fear and dread. “What is this place?” I whisper.

Elizaveta looks at her lap and drums her fingers on the frying pan lying there. “You should get some sleep, too.”

I hate not knowing things, so it’s hard for me to fall asleep as I lean on Feliciano, but eventually I drift off.

The last thing I remember is wondering why the driver has golden eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Everybody out!” the driver shouts at the top of his lungs. “Ich meine es!”

My eyes fly open and I see that everyone is huddled around a corner of the car, frowning at a sleeping Vash. “What’s going on?”

“Vash won’t wake up,” Kiku says simply, turning to me. “And he is lying very still.” 

That can’t be good. I sit up and crawl over to everyone else. “We have to get out the car,” I remind them as the driver begins to yell in German.

“Can’t you, like… carry him outside?” Feliks asks. “We can, like, totally wake him up then.”

Everyone agrees, and Ivan carefully picks up Vash as we climb out of the opened door. He stays completely still the entire time. Ivan puts Vash down against a tree as the van speeds away. He still doesn’t move. Roderich’s voice catches in his throat. “Is he…?”

But none of us answer. Because we really don’t know. 

Until he starts muttering. “I-Italy… Get off of my lawn…”

Everyone sighs simultaneously. Vash is only a heavy sleeper. But we have to wake him up. Tino takes a few steps forward and pokes him. “Vash? It’s time to wake up and… uh… patrol the border!”

“Oh, that is PATHETIC!” Gilbert scoffs. “You’ll never wake him up like that!” He smirks at us, then kneels next to Vash and yells in his ear: “Vash! YOU’RE MISSING THE YAOI!!!!!”

I’ve known Kiku long enough to know what that word means, and so has mostly everyone else, so we open our mouths to tell him to shut up. But Gilbert gets silent on his own as Vash, eyes still closed, pulls out an Walther PPK gun and holds it to the Prussian’s head. Vash’s eyes flutter open. Everyone takes a step back. “Whoa!”Alfred shouts. “Dude, chill!”

“Holy SCHISS, Vash!” Gilbert says through gritted teeth, sitting completely still. “Put the gun away!”

“You could have let me sleep,” the Swiss man replies simply.

I take a small step forward. When Vash doesn’t react, I kneel in front of him. “Listen to me. You don’t want them thinking you’re the one responsible for all this, do you?”

He frowns. “I could never do that much damage.”

I scoff lightly. “You’re holding a gun to your ally’s head.”

Vash considers this, then slowly lowers his gun. Gilbert jumps up and runs to stand by his brother, both looking horror-stricken. The gun drops to the ground and I pick it up, holding it away from Vash, who only repeats, “You could have let me sleep.”

“But we’re here,” I reply. The others snap out of their surprised states and look over to their right, remembering the reason we came. Vash looks in the same direction, only the focus is to his left. I follow his gaze…

…and find myself staring at the largest building I have ever seen.

It’s huge; about seven stories tall and each story several hundred feet high and wide. The building would take up a whole street-block if we were in the city and not in the middle of the country. A gate surrounds the building—with space between it and the front door for fieldwork—with a metal net on top, charged with electricity, creating a permanent cage around the camp. We can’t stop staring. “It’s so…” Yao whispers, tilting his head as he searches for a word, “…TALL, aru.”

Gilbert nods, smirking like he’s done all day. “And there’s ten more floors underground.”

Still, we can’t respond. Peter is the first to break the silence. “Well, let’s go, desu yo!” He runs forward toward the gate, his speed stopping us from running after him. But Ludwig snaps into action when he hears the familiar buzz of the gate. He runs, faster than Peter, and grabs the boy’s waist, pulling him away from the metal he’d been mere inches away from.

“Nein!” Ludwig snarls, turning the boy to face him. “That side of the gate ALONE has six thousand volts of electricity flowing through it. You know what happens if you touch it?” Peter shakes his head, so Ludwig leans down and whispers, “You touch that gate, and ‘roasted twelve-year-old sailor boy’ is our dinner’s main course.”

Peter gulps. “So what do I do?”

Ludwig pokes Peter’s forehead, something I’ve seen him do to Feliciano many times. “Don’t touch it.” He turns to us. “Here’s what you do. None of you touch this gate, EVER. If you need to leave, you flip that switch,” he says, pointing to a small black box hanging next to the front door. “That switch starts a forty-second timer, and until the time runs out, the gates will turn off.”

Gilbert nods and steps forward, pulling a small credit card-like object out of his uniform pocket. “This is the key to the gate,” he announces, showing it to us. The two brothers motion us over and we go to stand closer to the buzzing gate. Since I’m closer to it, I can see there’s another box, much like the switch, only this one has a thin slit. Gilbert points to it. “Ya see that? Watch this epic magic. You slide the key—” he shows us, swiping it in credit card action— “and wait three seconds!”

Literally three seconds later, the gate’s buzz gets silent and Gilbert opens the gate’s entrance without hesitation. He leans against the open “door” and continues, “As long as this door is open, the gate is off. So you don’t have to rush and worry about the electricity.”

“Just take your time,” Ludwig adds.

Gilbert nods, but frowns impatiently at us. “But seriously, hurry up. We haven’t got all day!”

He cracks a smile and enthusiasm takes over everyone, and they run through the gate into the yard—into their safety. I walk through the gate but hand behind and watch them. So many people run around, jump on each other’s backs, the younger ones even fall on the dusty ground and stare up adoringly at the sky.

Ludwig closes the gate behind me—since Gilbert had run off when Elizaveta began to chase him with her frying pan—and the gate turns back on. Even though my back is turned to him, I can practically see him cross his arms. “Look at them all… So happy, so carefree. As if they’ve forgotten why they’re even here!”

I shake my head and watch Katyusha sit behind Emma on the dirt, braiding her blond hair. “No. They haven’t forgotten.” Gilbert attacks Antonio in a hug and Francis joins in soon after, causing all three to fall to the ground in laughter. “They’re just enjoying the safety, while they still can.”

“Lovino… This place can’t keep them safe forever.”

I clutch Vash’s gun tighter in my hand. “But I can.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It takes a few minutes to round everyone up and bring them inside. Gilbert unlocks the front door using another key, promising to give us all copies eventually. Eduard comments at how bad of an idea that is, glancing especially at Feliciano, Feliks, Natalia, and Ivan. Gilbert nods, and everyone goes off to explore the main room, which as a wall-sized television and an open doorway leading to a restaurant-sized kitchen. 

It’s ridiculously large and near-impossible to describe, so use your imagination and visualize a theater-sized living room. I glance at the barred, one-way bulletproof window and see that the sun is beginning to set. So I clap my hands and everyone starts to surround me, paying close attention.

“Listen up,” I announce. “Tomorrow we decide on how we will train. But tonight, we rest. Ludwig, how many bedrooms are there?”

“Eleven,” he answers automatically. “Seven two-person, three three-person, and a single one-person. The other rooms have been altered into different things. But the single is the nicest—it has the most space.”

“Lovino should get the single bedroom,” Kiku pipes up. “He’s the one in charge, after all.” Everyone agrees, and although I don’t WANT to be seen as “in charge,” I also don’t want to disagree with them. So I hesitantly take the lonely room.

“So that leaves ten rooms,” I add. “Three triples, seven doubles. That adds up to… twenty-three people. Perfect.” That’s how many we have, not including me.

“Do we get roommates?” Peter asks enthusiastically. “I call Raivis, desu yo!” He bounces over to the young Latvian and grabs his hand. Raivis smiles timidly. 

But apparently Eduard doesn’t agree with this idea, because he walks up to the two children and places a hand on Raivis’ shoulder. “You two will try and sneak out if you don’t have a guardian.” He looks at Ludwig. “We’ll take a triple.”

“So will we,” Tino says, gesturing to Berwald and Lukas with a smile.

“And Gilbert, Kiku, and I will too,” Ludwig nods, “so one of us can control security at night and there will still be two people in a room.” 

Gilbert gives his brother a huge thumbs-up. “All right. Everyone, pair up!”

It’s not total chaos or anything, but I can tell how many things will go wrong. For example, Feli runs over to hug and pair up with Feliks. Roderich and Vash glance at each other, since they stand together, and nod simply. And I see the most troublesome pair of all team up: Antonio and Francis.

Other than that, it’s not so bad. Alfred jumps to pair with Arthur, and Yao goes with Ivan. When Natalia sees this, she glares at Yao and settles with her sister. Elizaveta grabs Emma’s arm, and soon everyone has a roommate.

Except me.

I would have chosen Matthew.


	15. A Dream, A Memory, and A Promise

“Call out to him, right now.”

“Non!”

The whip comes down again, the grey-clad soldier beating the young Canadian and watching him with his golden eyes. “I said, CALL TO HIM! NOW!”

Matthew falls onto his stomach and claws the ground helplessly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “S’il te plait, Lovi… Help me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“MATTHEW!” I jump up in bed, waking from that sickening nightmare. It’s horrible, seeing my best friend locked up in a cell, a chain clasping his ankle, making it impossible to escape. He looks filthy, covered in dirt and blood, and thinner than usual. But it’s so realistic, as if it’s not a nightmare… but a memory.

Outside my door, I hear a loud banging that sounds much like wood hitting metal. I groan and crawl out of bed, then pull open my bedroom door to see Elizaveta marching up and down the second-floor hallway while banging a wooden spoon against her frying pan. “Up and at ’em, sweethearts!” she screams, stopping at every door to kick it with her boot. When she pauses at my room, I glare at her, but the effect probably isn’t the same since I’m half-asleep. “Donneven hit tha’ pan,” I say sleepily.

Elizaveta nods, but then takes her frying pan and smacks my leg with it. “There! I didn’t hit it. I hit YOU!” she shouts happily.

I rub my injured leg. “Owwch… Fine.” I turn to go back in my room to get ready. “Imma gettin’-up,” I reply weakly, slamming the door behind me.

She turns away to wake up the others as I pull on the clothes that have been laid out for me and she calls through the closed door, “That’s the spirit, Lovino! Who needs sleep? You can sleep when you’re DEAD!”

I finish buttoning my pants and shirt and pull on my boots. “Yea-yea-yea. Shuddup, ya stup’d witch…”

After everyone’s awake and functioning, we head down to the main room to take our seats on sofas, chairs, or the ground. Francis, the first to wake up, I assume, sets a plate holding a mountain of French toast on the coffee table in the center of the room. We all grab a slice and turn our focus to Ludwig, who stands and walks to the front of the room. “All right,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s talk about the ways we will train. I will teach you basic fighting skills, of course. Does anyone else have any ideas?”

Yao raises his hand. “What about martial arts, aru?” After being answered with a nod, his hand goes down. 

“That’s a great idea!” Alfred replies, pointing to his Chinese ally. “Anyone can fight, but you have to have SKILLS to beat a ninja on the battlefield!”

Feliks raises his hand, too. “I, like, hate to interrupt, but… shouldn’t we totally have, like, a program for those of us who CAN’T fight?”

“Are you THAT weak?” Gilbert snickers.

Feliks frowns and crosses his arms. “Did I SAY anything about me? I totally think not!”

“I could teach computer hacking,” Berwald offers gruffly. 

Feliks rolls his eyes. “Computers are totally useless in this situation!”

Berwald glares at him. “They’re more useful than YOU.”

As they begin to argue, I think about the dream I had, about Mattie. I hated seeing him locked up like that—Wait. I freeze the image in my head and look closely at Matthew’s jail cell. On the other side of the bars, there is a small box that looks very familiar… I frown, trying to figure out where I’ve seen it, before I realize we have a box just like that on our front door AND on the gate. My eyes snap open. It’s a key. It’s a key.

“It’s a KEY!” I shout. Everyone turns to stare at me, and I continue. “The cells the kidnapped are locked in. They’re locked with ELECTRONIC KEYS like we have!” God, how could I have been so stupid? I never even thought about what those boxes could have been!

Arthur scoffs. “What’s your point?”

I stand up, suddenly filled with energy as all the pieces fall into place. “Gilbert, if the box—I mean, lock—on our front door breaks while we’re outside, how do we get back in?”

Gilbert frowns. “There’s a sensor next to the lock on the wall. It sends off a wifi network that connects to the lock. If it breaks, you can get a computer, and if you hack the network…” He pauses and his eyes light up, as he understands my question, “…you can control the lock from your computer’s control center!”

“We could unlock the jail cells,” Kiku whispers. Everyone starts murmuring, and Ivan walks up to me. “Comrade, how did you know what kind of locks the cells have?”

I lower my voice and Ivan leans down, closer so he can hear. “I saw them in a dream,” I whisper. Ivan nods but looks like he wants to say something else, so I call out to everyone before he can. “Okay! We have our plan; those who don’t want to physically fight will train to be hackers.”

Ludwig motions to the door. “Well, then, let’s break up into groups and have the fighters go outside for training—”

I cut him off. “Wait, wait, wait. We’re not done yet. There’s another group I want to form.” I turn away from the others’ confused faces and only pay attention to the person who’s sitting on a chair in the corner, looking at his lap and being quiet like he’s been since the incident on the front lawn yesterday. “Vash. Would you like your gun back?”

He looks up at me suspiciously. “You’ll give it BACK?”

Wow. The love in this room. It’s just so overpowering. “I will… if you lead gun training.” The Swiss man frowns, but I raise an eyebrow. “Come on. I know you smuggled more guns here. They’re probably in your bags that we all sent here before we arrived, right?” He just nods simply, looking very guilty.

“Gun training?” Alfred punches the air. “Oh, F-yeah! Every hero needs a gun!”

Vash shakes his head. “Who would sign up for THAT?”

The young American—apparently feeling very possessive of the spotlight today—points to himself. “I would!”

Gilbert shrugs. “I would. And so would mein bruder. He could also make weapons for our little military!” He nudges Ludwig’s arm, who just nods, completely unfazed. 

Ivan settles into a chair. “I could help Ludwig. I know how to make very nice weapons, da?”

Alfred shivers. “I know. Cold War, ugh.”

“See?” I ask Vash. “You have four followers already. Make a difference, Vash.”

Vash glares at me, but after a moment, cracks a small and rare smile at Alfred, Ivan, Gilbert, and Ludwig. “Welcome to training, men.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Once we finish the whole training discussion, Antonio goes to the kitchen and grabs a butcher knife, then nods to the stairs. “Come follow me!” he tells us. “I have an idea~”

Everyone follows him, our of the main room and into a small room where the large staircase is, going upstairs to the bedrooms and other floors I’ve yet to see. The stairs are made of wood, and when I see Antonio go to the side of the staircase and press the knife against it, I know exactly what his plan is. 

But Natalia doesn’t understand. “What are you doing to the staircase?!” she cries. “You’re ruining it! You’re insane!”

“And you’re one to talk!” Antonio laughs. “Calling ME insane. But you’ll see what I’m doing in a second…” After a few moments he steps away, revealing the three scribbled words carved into the wood: “military,” “technology,” and “weaponry.” Everyone gasps, but he leans on the wood again and carves another word under Military, a name: “Antonio.” 

With a smile, he turns back to us, looking pleased with himself. “I’m doing this because our names will be permanently carved into this wood, kind of a symbol for our ever-lasting pact to be a part of this team since this staircase will always stand! You know, unless there’s a fire or something!” He holds out the knife, waiting. “Who’s next?”

Francis steps forward and takes the knife, whispering as he writes his name. “Je suis désolé, mon ami, but I cannot fight alongside you.” When he moves out of the way, his name is seen under the word Technology.

Antonio frowns, looking a little crushed, until Gilbert pulls a pocketknife out of his uniform and switches it open, pushing Francis gently out of the way. He smiles at his Spanish friend and grabs his shoulder. “’Tonio, you are my bester freund. I will ALWAYS fight next to you.” He lets go of Antonio and scratches his name into the staircase, right under his “best friend’s” name.

Soon, everyone is pulling out switchblades and taking the knife from Francis, signing up for various teams and apologizing to their friends for their choices. “Anyone else for technology?” Berwald shouts above the noise. “That everyone? Okay, then! Hackers, follow me!” 

Feliks runs over to Berwald from his spot by the stairs. “No, no, no! Like, wait up!” When he reaches the technology group, Ludwig points to the staircase and says, “Fourth floor. Computer center.” Berwald nods and I watch his group go: Natalia, Katyusha, Eduard, Tino, Francis, Feliks, and Feliciano. I’m glad my brother knew better than to sign up for physical training. Gilbert laughs again once the Hackers are gone. “Kesesesese~ I guess Feliks really WAS that weak!”

A few other people laugh, but I don’t. Neither does Emma. She just looks at me and smiles, then holds out her switchblade. “Lovi, would you like your turn?”

I WOULD like my turn. To grab that blade and slash it across your pretty golden locks— Whoa. What am I thinking?! I actually just considered cutting Emma’s hair. I would NEVER do that. It didn’t even seem like my own thoughts, more like someone was… putting their ideas in my mind, and telling me to do them. Brainwashing me. I ignore the thought, not wanting to worry the others, and slowly take the blade from her, heading to the staircase. But when I raise the knife to the wood, the reflection in the metal reminds me of the first time I saw this switchblade. But first, I remember the first time I met Emma.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was young, about seven or eight, and I had just been introduced to the prettiest lady I’d ever seen. This perfect blonde had seen me walking by, eating a slice of delicious pizza, and asked me if I knew any Spanish. Secretly, I DID know a little, but I just pretended not to around Spain. So as Spain tried to tell her I didn’t exactly pay attention to his lessons, I decided to embarrass him and grab the woman’s skirt, tugging it and shouting a simple word that hopefully would make me look adorable:

“Bésame! Kiss me! Kiss, kiss! Bésame! Kiss me, kiss me! Kiiiiiiiiss!”

The lady had smiled and offered a kiss on the cheek, but when I saw that smile, I got so nervous and said no, that I wasn’t ready! But she found me cute, anyway.

A few years later, when I became thirteen, Spain and I went out to pick some tomatoes, and the woman met us there. I had learned her country was Belgium, and she became my first crush and best friend.

We were all at different ends of the fruit orchard, and I spotted a wonderful tomato hanging from a small plant near a big oak tree. I ran over to pull it from the plant, staring at the perfect shape and rich color. But when I went to put it in my basket (which was sitting a few feet away), my foot got caught in a cluster of vines that covered the ground so I fell, and the tomato rolled out of my reach.

“Aiutami!” I cried, helplessly trying to pull my foot away. “Help me, help me!” My leg began to burn and I wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt myself, but I was too scared to see any damage that might be hidden by my poufy blue pants. 

“Romano?” I heard Spain’s voice but saw Belgium first as they both ran up to me from different directions. Spain frowned and looked down at me, clutching his basket. “Oh, no. What happened now?”

It took me a minute to even figure it out. “I…I fell…” I murmured, nervously adjusting the little cape that hung on my shoulders. Why could I never talk normally around these two…?

“Aw, poor little Roma!” Belgium knelt next to me on the dirt and pulled out a small switchblade from her apron’s pocket. “Hang on. I’ll get you out,” she said as she began cutting the vines. In no time my feet were free, so I pulled back my pant leg and saw a large scrape on my knee. “Ow… merda.”

“Romano… Language,” I heard my “Boss” say with a laugh. I glanced up at Spain, who had apparently picked up the tomato I had dropped and was now inspecting it. I noticed that even though it had hit the ground, it never lost its shape. I crossed my arms and glared in his direction. “Stupid Spain. That’s MY tomato.”

Spain only smiled and brushed the leftover dirt off the tomato, then handed it to Belgium. She put her blade back in her pocket and took the fruit, pressing her lips to it in a chaste kiss. She held it out to me and I blushed before I grabbed the tomato and held it close to my chest. My blush grew as Belgium leaned down and pressed another kiss to my bare knee. “G-Grazie, signorina,” I stuttered. 

“Of course!” Belgium fixed my pants and pulled me forward into a tight hug. “I will ALWAYS bet here to help you!”

Spain knelt next to us and I felt him join in the hug, pressing me in-between him and Belgium. “We BOTH will.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I HAD liked Emma. A lot. As the memory fades away, I remember her and Antonio’s promise: “We will always be here to help you.”

I stare at the lingering knife, noticing for the first time that I had been subconsciously leaning to the Technology side, about to write my name under Feliks’. When I realize my actions, I jerk my hand away suddenly, filled with a lot of self-hatred.

Emma and Antonio want to protect me? I think as I scratch letters into the wood. Well, I think it’s time to reverse the roles a little.

I stand back and observe the words etched into the wood before me. My name is carved underneath the words “Military” AND “Weaponry.”

Watch how well I can protect them with a gun in my hand.


	16. Reasons to Hate

“CAZZO!” I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling of the third underground floor—one of the training floors—as a result of Yao kicking me in my stomach. Feeling guilty for the damage of his roundhouse kick, he helps me up and shows me the move again. “Watch closely, aru. You keep a tight fist and a strong arm, and the force WILL block my attack—”

“I KNOW what it does!” I shout as loud as my lungs will allow. “I just CAN’T DO IT!”

“You can do it if you TRY,” Ludwig points out from the side of the room, watching me closely and waiting for his turn. I glance at my shoes, which are on the ground a few feet away, then jump forward and grab one. “I AM trying!” I scream as I hurl one boot in the German’s direction. “I’m just not focused!”

He dodges the shoe easily, then stares at me with a totally blank look on that ugly face of his. “That’s not MY fault, is it?” I simply glare, considering whether or not I want to throw the OTHER shoe. Instead I turn back to Yao and nod. “Again.”

As sickening as the truth is, it really ISN’T Ludwig’s fault I’m not focused. It’s Matthew’s. I guess I just need someone else to blame.

After everyone has their turn we break for lunch, but one, I’m not too hungry, and two, I know everyone will be rushing to get some of Francis’ food. So waiting awhile is probably the best idea. I dart up the stairs to my bedroom and yank a piece of paper off the door, then head to the ninth sublevel, where Ludwig and Ivan are supposed to be making weapons for the military. The paper is a list of names of everyone on what I call “the Fighting Side,” and during the day each person would find their name and write down what weapon they want next to it. As I ride down the elevator, I notice how completely abnormal a few of the requests are. 

Still reading the list, I push open the thick wooden doors that lead to the hot-as-hell furnace room. “You won’t have to make weapons for a few people,” I announce, not looking away from the paper. “Like Roderich, for example. He wants to use his riding crop. Classy.” I scoff and am answered with only a “Ja, all right,” so I tear my eyes away from their current focus and glance up. Ludwig stands behind a stone table, welding a large object out of metal with a mallet and flaming rock. Ludwig’s jacket is thrown across the room, leaving him in a white undershirt now soaked in sweat. I glance around and walk up to him. “Where’s Ivan?”

The German shrugs, never pausing from his work. “I’d assume… he’s either bothering Raivis, stalking Yao, or running from Natalia.” 

“Mm.” I nod and sit on a wooden stool on the opposite side of the table from him. After a moment, I ask awkwardly, “What you making?”

“A newer, better, heavier pan for Elizaveta to fight with,” he answers simply. “Gilbert told me she mentioned wanting a new one.” What a weapon, I think to myself as I nod again and look down at the list once more. “You’re gonna have a lot of work to do,” I say. “Lots of people want swords.” 

He doesn’t even look at me. “I can do that,” he says over the pounding of the mallet.

Oh, really now? “Antonio wants an axe,” I add.

He shrugs and repeats himself: “I can do that.”

I smirk mockingly and lean closer in his direction. “And Peter wants a harpoon gun that fires goat horns dipped in poison.” Ludwig stops working, mallet mid-air, and stares up at me. I half-smile and hold the list out to him. “Think I’m lying? The kid actually wrote that. Spelled ‘harpoon’ wrong, too.” Seriously, Peter, WHAT is a “harpune”? 

But Ludwig just glances at the paper, shrugs, and goes back to work. “I can MANAGE that.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The German stops again and pushes the mallet away, then begins to cool the hot metal from the pan’s handle with a cold towel. “What? Hate you?”

Enough of the bull. I want an answer, just for once in my life. “Yes. What reason did I ever give for you to hate me?”

“YOU’RE the one who hates ME,” he replies, dropping the towel and leaning on the table to glare at me. “Just tell me, what did I do that’s so horrible?”

I frown, trying to find a legitimate answer and not just an excuse. “I-It’s not YOU, exactly… You just remind me of someone I really never liked. Someone who hurt my fratello.”

Ludwig narrows his eyes and lightly taps the table to put emphasis on his words, snarling them at me through gritted teeth. “You’d better listen to me, LOVINO VARGAS. Whoever that someone was… I will NEVER hurt your brother like they did.” He shrugs, something in his eyes changing a little. “I won’t hurt him at ALL…”

I lean forward a bit too and glare with as much hatred as I can. “I DON’T TRUST YOU.”

“Well, you’d better learn to.”

We just stand there for a few minutes, eyes narrowed, right in each other’s faces as if we’re having a staring contest. But as everyone knows, when you ARE having a staring contest, someone eventually has to blink. And I’m not going to let my eyes get tired (in the metaphorical sense, of course), so I break the silence. “I’m leaving now. Hopefully everyone’s left a little something for me to eat.”

Ludwig shrugs and stops putting pressure on the table, going back to working on Elizaveta’s pan. I wait for an answer but he doesn’t respond, so I turn and storm out the door. GOD, I hate Germans. But I hate it more when they’re right. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

When I get back up to the main area, I notice that instead of dozens of various foods laid out on the tables, there is nothing to eat. I frown and walk into the kitchen, then see a girl standing in front of some cooking machine on the counter next to the refrigerator, strands of her blond hair falling in her face despite the red ribbon trying to hold them back. Sneaking up behind her, I discover she is using one of those waffle-making machines often found in hotels at breakfast-time. I lean forward, inhaling the scent of cooked food, until the girl turns around suddenly and smiles. “Hi!”

“Whoa!” Caught off-guard, I jump back a few good feet and lose my balance, falling right on my back. “Emmaaaaaaa,” I whine, standing up and feeling the embarrassed blush take over. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Emma laughs and my blush grows darker. “Then don’t peer over my shoulder!” That’s when I realize when I was trying to smell the waffles, my chin was pretty much resting on her shoulder. GREAT. I make my way over to the wooden dining table and collapse into one of the seats. “W-Whatever. Making me sound like a freaking stalker or something…”

Completely unaware that I’m speaking, Emma interrupts, “Do you want some food?” She opens the machine and I take a deep breath as the smoke hisses out. “I know that it’s three in the afternoon,” she continues, “but I think waffles are delicious any time of day!”

 

Well, she is right about that, I think as Emma practically skips to my side and places a plate of two waffles in front of me. I glance at the food, wondering why she’s giving it to me and not keeping it herself. But Emma just smiles and says, “Don’t worry. They’re not Belgian or anything, so you’re not eating the food of someone you hate.”

Hate? Wait, what? “H-Hang on a second…!”

A look of confusion appears on Emma’s face before quickly disappearing. “Oh! I know what you’re going to ask for! Wait just one moment…” She holds up a finger before dashing to the cabinets and racking through them. Once she finds the object—a small plastic bottle—Emma runs back to my side and pops the lid open, pouring the thick liquid over my meal. “Emma, what—?” My voice catches in my throat when the new scent reaches my nose. Maple syrup.

“What’s your favorite smell?”

“The smell of maple syrup, of course!”

My hands, now molded into fists on the table, start to shake as I remember my friend. Of course this is his favorite smell. A sweet scent for a sweet kid. Emma places her hand on my shoulder in concern and I snap back to reality, pushing the plate as far away from me as I can without standing. The woman next to me drops her hand. In an attempt to break the silence, I mutter:

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

The silence stays. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Emma speaks. “I… I told you, they’re NOT Belgian waffles…”

“That’s not it,” I interrupt, staring at the syrup bottle as Emma sits in the chair next to me. The smell of maple syrup, of course! I take a slow, deep breath. “The syrup… it reminds me of Matthew.” Emma gasps and covers her mouth, and I continue, “He loves it. He absolutely LOVES the taste and the feel and the smell. This had nothing to do with you. Just… emotional overload.”

The Belgian lowers her hand and scoots closer to me. “Lovino, I’m sorry that I reminded you of him. I know, the thought of what could be happening to everyone is terrifying.” She produces a sad smile. “I’m just glad it wasn’t because of me.”

“Despite what you think, I DON’T hate you… anymore,” I admit. “I mean, I-I used to, just…” I sigh and look up at her, really making eye contact for the first time in a long time. “Look. When I found out you were only joking about kissing me, I was embarrassed. I hated you for it. But as time went on and years passed, it became clear that I didn’t hate YOU. I… I hated the things people said about me and… Antonio.”

Emma nods, but keeps a frown. “But what does that have to do with me…?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know!” My tone sounds exasperated and angry, but I can’t help it as I remember all the mental pain I went through for so many years. “I thought what I felt was wrong. I was raised to think that way! The more people said about me, the more horrible I felt. I DID like you, at one point. But as I grew, those feelings weakened and everyone noticed. I tried to use you, as a cover-up, I guess. And when you turned me down, constantly, I hated that I had no excuse anymore. I didn’t know it would hurt you, Emma.”

Emma takes my hand and says, “It hurt because I missed you. You were like a little brother to me. You still are.” She raises our hands to her lips and kisses one of my hands. “Can we start over, please?”

Starting over. Forgetting all my mistakes. That sounds great. “I would love that.” She jumps off her chair to hug me and I slide my arms around her waist, hugging back. I feel absolutely and truly relieved… until two more people walk into the room. 

“All right, break it up, you two.” I let go of Emma and we turn to see Gilbert and Antonio standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Gilbert smirks at me and adds, “I thought you weren’t into Belgians,” but his voice breaks. That doesn’t happen often.

“Where’s the third musketeer?” Emma asks.

Antonio stares at the ground, looking like such a heartbroken little kid. “Gone.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I thought this place was safe!”

“How could this happen?”

“You’re supposed to protect us…”

Everyone screams various things at me as we all gather in the main room. They all think Francis has been taken from the safe house, but according to the French-written note clutched in my grasp, that’s not how the story goes. “You guys keep ignoring the truth!” I shout over the noise. “HE RAN AWAY.” I unfold the note and stare down at the French, slightly embarrassed that I know enough of the language to translate. “He said losing his ‘vrai amour’ was too much for him.”

Lukas nods, but the nod turns into a head-shake. “What is a ‘vrai amour’?”

“I don’t know about you… but I would stand in the middle of a battlefield to save my vrai amour.” “True love,” I answer, another one of my friend’s quotes coming to mind. “He went after Matthew. Alone.”

A look of understanding passes Lukas’ face. “I guess… I’ve considered doing the same…” Kiku and Peter nod, agreeing. 

“Yeah, well, don’t,” I snap, looking up. “Because we’ve already lost two friends for this reason. And don’t forget; Turkey went after Greece and look what happened to him—”

“Sadiq and Heracles,” Kiku says quietly. “Those are their actual names…” His voice carries off as another thought fazes him. “Sorry, Lovino. Did you say we lost… TWO friends?”

“Si,” I reply, glancing at the second paragraph of the note, the Polish written in curly handwriting. “Feliks left, too.”

Feliciano gasps. “But… now I have no roommate! And another friend, gone…”

“He left because of Lithuania?” Katyusha asks.

I shrug. “Don’t know. That’s what I would assume, but there’s no way to be sure since I can’t read Polish…”

“I can!” Ivan walks forward and takes the note from me. “I had to learn it in the past,” he explains, looking it over. “Let’s see… Well, you were right about one thing, comrade: he DID want to be with Lithua—Toris.”

Emma lifts a hand to her forehead. “I think I need some air.” Ludwig pulls the key out of his pocket and nods to the door. Emma walks up to him and takes it. “Stay within the gate,” Ludwig reminds her as she opens the small closet in the foyer and pulls a coat out of it. 

“I will.” Emma walks out and the door slams. 

“I hope she’s not gone long,” Yao says with a frown. “It may be early but it’s already getting dark out, aru.”

Gilbert shrugs and leans against a wall, crossing his arms. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll go missing, too. One less mouth to feed.”

“You should watch what you say, comrade,” Ivan says with a little smile. “Feliks also left because he felt judged—by you.”

The Prussian’s red eyes grow wider. “Holy mother of Gott.”

“That’s it. No more,” I announce, receiving everyone’s attention. “No more judging, no more insults. Keep them to yourself. And no more leaving! We need EVERYONE.” I glare at Gilbert as I say this, angry at his comment about Emma. “Think about it like this: the more people who leave, the more people we have to save. So be careful.”

Antonio nods. “And no walking around outside without someone else. And… uh… no going out after dark!” He frowns. “That would be REALLY bad.”

As soon as he says the words, I realize it. He’s right. I run to Ludwig and punch his chest, over and over again. “You let her out! You let her go outside, you idiot! Why did you let her go out?!”

The man opens his mouth to answer but instead we all hear a shrill scream, much like one of the screams heard in horror movies that make your skin crawl. All of our heads snap in the direction of the door.

“Emma.”


	17. Emma's Attack

In the next two seconds, half of us run out of the building to follow the sound and the other half wait inside, too afraid to do anything about it. It doesn’t take long to find the whimpering Belgian collapsed on the ground, clutching the coat around her shoulders. When I see her I run to her side and pull her head onto my lap. “Shh, Emma, it’s okay,” I whisper as she thrashes about in my arms. “Emma. Stop it, now.”

She slowly stops throwing her arms around but keeps shaking as the others run up behind me. “I…Is it gone?”

“Is WHAT gone?” Elizaveta asks, glancing around the yard. “I don’t see anything.” That much is true; the sky is completely black now and it’s almost impossible to see at all.

“The demon,” Emma cries, sitting up. “It was a demon!” She starts to pull at her hair and wail, “A demon, I promise you! I saw it!”

Arthur takes a step away from us, and we all turn to look at him. “You think you saw a demon? Why, you must be mad!”

“I’m NOT mad!” she shouts, tears streaming down her face. “Lovino, please.” Emma looks back at me and clings to my shirt. “Please convince them to believe me. I saw it, I swear!”

Everyone gets dead silent when I take Emma’s hands off my chest and hold them. “Can you tell me EXACTLY what you saw?”

Emma gulps to choke back sobs so she can answer. “I-I was walking around, trying to clear my head, when I felt someone grab me from behind and drag me off—I don’t know where they were bringing me because it was too dark to tell. Their hand covered my mouth, so I couldn’t call for help; I tried. They turned me around—to look at me, I guess?—and even though I couldn’t see a face that well, I saw confusion in their eyes. Like they were surprised to see me.”

Surprised to see her… I glance at Emma’s coat and realize she was in such a hurry to go outside, the coat she grabbed is mine. That would clarify a lot; if someone was behind her and she had the hood on, Emma might look like me because the person would only see the jacket. They would believe they were attacking ME. Since I’m the leader of this… whatever this is… whoever’s taking our friends is probably out for my blood. “From the quick glimpse you saw,” I ask slowly, “what did they look like?”

“Well, they had a grey hood,” Emma replies with a nod. “It looked like they had dark hair—but that could just be from the darkness out here. They were also white as snow, and I’m not over-exaggerating when I say that! They were whiter than Gilbert!” Everyone laughs but soon gets serious again. “And they had golden eyes.”

Golden eyes. Why does that sound so familiar? “Gold,” she repeats, eyeing every one of us. “A deep, rich gold. Like a light in the center of a dark abyss. That’s why I believe it was a demon,” Emma says with a forced, nervous laugh. “It literally VANISHED when you opened the door and the lights from inside flooded out.”

Alfred shakes his head and glances behind him. “Dude, that’s kind of terrifying. Are you sure it’s gone?”

“If Emma says it’s gone, it’s gone,” I answer back. “Let’s just get everyone back inside.” The others turn to walk back to the house and after gently pushing Emma off of me, I get up to follow them. Emma places her hands on the ground on both sides of her and pushes herself to stand. But instead, she cries out and falls back down on the dirt. “Lovino…” Her sad eyes meet mine and she whimpers, “I-I can’t get up…”

I immediately fall to her side and grab her hand, calling over my shoulder for help. “Guys, come back! She’s hurt!” After a few moments of comforting the injured friend before me, a few of the others (including Elizaveta, Antonio, Tino, Eduard, and Vash) run up to us. “She says she can’t stand,” I explain.

“Would you like me to check?” Tino offers hesitantly. Emma nods and Tino kneels in front of her, lightly tapping up and down her leg. When he touches her right knee, Emma flinches and draws a sharp breath. “So it hurts right here?” Tino asks. He tells Emma to hold her breath as he pinches her knee from different angles, feeling where the injury is. During the entire process, she clutches my hand as if she’s holding on for dear life. Emma closes her eyes and begins to cry softly, and as Elizaveta tries to silence her roommate Tino looks at me and mouths, “It’s popped out of place.” I hold back a groan; that’s almost as painful as it gets. But I look back at the Finnish boy, who’s now making a pushing motion with his hand. Then he points to me, glances at Emma, and makes a fist: “Brace her.”

I nod and pull Emma’s head to my chest so she can cry on my shirt, and I bury my face in her hair. This way, I can comfort her without having to watch Tino pop her knee. “You’re going to be okay,” I vow. “I promise you, as long as I’m here you’re going to be fine.”

“Emma, I’m going to touch your knee again, okay?” Tino chirps. “You may feel a SLIGHT pinch…”

“Just squeeze my hand if it hurts,” I whisper. I feel Emma nod and re-adjust her hand in mine, and I use my other hand to signal Tino. Emma’s sobs lessen as I kiss her head numerous times, but it doesn’t take long for me to hear the pop and she screams into my shirt, the tears resuming quickly. “You’re okay,” I repeat, smoothing her back and shoulder. “You are.” I look over at Tino, who gives me a thumbs-up and reaches forward to touch Emma’s arm. “You’re done!” he says with a smile. “Now, was that so bad?”

Emma turns her head to look at him but keeps her cheek against my chest. “Yes, it was bad! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”

“Because then, you wouldn’t have let me!” the boy replies happily. “You would’ve been too scared. Be warned, it’s going to hurt for awhile. I’m sure I have some medicine inside that will help. Are you at least a LITTLE better now?”

The Belgian sits up and twists around, testing herself, then automatically flinches again. “I can feel the pain still, but it doesn’t hurt as much. Thank you, Tino.”

Tino beams. “My pleasure! Now, let’s get you back inside!” Antonio steps forward and reaches out to Emma, but I push his hand away: “I’ve got her.” He nods as Emma wraps her arms around my neck, and I place one hand on her back and the other under her legs, careful of the injured knee. With Antonio’s help, I stand up and tuck Emma closer to my chest so it’s easier to hold her in my arms. We slowly head back to the house with the four others close behind. 

“Thank you, my little Italian,” Emma laughs softly against my neck, resting her head on my shoulder. “Thank you…” We reach the front door and the people inside open it for us. Emma’s breathing becomes more even and I realize she’s fallen asleep, so I take the opportunity to whisper in her ear: 

“Of course. I will ALWAYS be here to help you.”

Even though he’s behind me and therefore out of my direct eyesight, I know Antonio’s smiling. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“So what are we going to do about Francis and Feliks?” 

After sending Emma to her room to rest (Tino said she’d have to sit out of training for awhile) and the Hackers to the Computer Center for more training, I stand in front of the members of the Fighting Side and answer Roderich’s question. “Easy. We wait and watch.” I turn to my left and nod, and Ludwig walks up to me, holding the wall-sized World Map from the Conference Room. I point to the wall behind me and he hangs it up with a couple of thumbtacks. 

“See how the other countries are fading more and more?” I ask, trailing my finger along the map. “When the French and Polish land start to fade, that’s when we’ll know they’ve been caught—IF they get caught. And we’ll also know how fast this threat works.”

Everyone behind me starts to mutter to each other, agreeing with my theory, while I start to count how many NEW areas are being affected. Iceland, Monaco, Liechtenstein. I decide not to tell Vash about that. And thank God Emma isn’t here, I think when I see the lighter-than-usual color of Luxembourg’s country. But then I notice something strange: the country near the top of Luxembourg isn’t faded at all. Netherlands. I lean closer to verify my belief. Yeah, Netherlands isn’t the slightest bit faded. In fact, the country is shining a little. If he left the Europeans with Luxembourg and she’s been taken, how is Netherlands perfectly fine? 

“Lovino? Lovino.”

“What?” The word comes out with more venom than I meant it to. It’s just that the sudden voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I can’t even remember what I was thinking about. I turn to the crowd behind me and look at the person who called my name. “Oh… Sorry, Vash. You were saying?”

Vash glares at me a little, then shakes his head and continues speaking. “I called your name six times.”

I shrug. It’s not like I could hear him. “Like I said, sorry. I was thinking about…” Seriously, what WAS I thinking about? “…something.”

“All right, all right.” The Swiss man rolls his eyes at me. “I’d like to start gun training now. Ludwig said we can train on the bottom sub-level. It’s soundproof, apparently.” I try not to think about why Nazis would need a soundproof room. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“First thing we will do: choose a weapon.” Vash walks back and forth in front of the three of us—me, Gilbert, and Alfred—with a wall full of guns behind him. They all hang in a certain order, grouped together in sections depending on the gun type. But the huge wall’s space is completely filled, which means there are THAT MANY GUNS. 

“These are all of mine,” Vash continues. He stops walking and turns to the wall, and from my spot I can see his proud smirk. “Somewhat intimidating, I know, but… they serve their purpose.”

“So what do we do?” Gilbert chuckles. “Grab the gun that we think looks the coolest?”

“Ha! NO.” Our trainer turns back quickly and stares down each of us. “Here’s how this works. You take time observing each gun. When you see the right one, you’ll know; it’s just a feeling you’ll get when you look at it.” Vash walks to the wall again and glances at every gun before his eyes fall on a classic AK-47, his signature gun. He pulls it off the wall and grips it tightly. “You have to KNOW the way to hold it, without me telling you. You’ll just immediately know the correct way. And once you can do THIS…” He snaps around so suddenly that the three of us jump out the way, and in one swift movement that doesn’t take longer than half-a-second, Vash positions the gun in his arms and shoots. The bullet flies all the way across the room to the three practice targets and hits the middle one perfectly in the center. We slowly turn back to stare at Vash, who is now fighting another smirk. 

“As I was saying,” he says calmly, “once you can do that, you’ve got your gun.”

None of us move. We don’t want to choose our gun after seeing THAT. It’s intimidating to the greatest extreme. 

After a moment, Gilbert heads over to the wall and looks up at all the guns. “So… how do we know which gun to take, again?” 

Before Vash can answer, Alfred raises his hand so he can answer Gilbert himself. “Oh! Oh, oh! Think about it like this, dude. It’s like Harry Potter!” His hand goes down but he makes a fake-serious face and speaks in a dramatic voice: “‘The gun chooses you.’” 

The Prussian’s hand waves over the wall before he takes a large gun—an HK416 Assault Rifle—in his hand. He turns quickly toward the targets and pulls the trigger three times, changing his focus each time, so he hits all three targets perfectly. I groan (why is everyone so GOOD at this?!) as Gilbert looks over the gun at us and smirks. “I think I’ve found my gun.”

Vash nods, a look of surprise crossing his face. “I have to say, Beilschmidt, I’m impressed—Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he cries out as Gilbert shoves the gun into Vash’s hands and walks to the elevator, then presses the UP button. “Where do you think YOU’RE going?”

The elevator door opens and the Prussian walks into it, then turns to us and shrugs. “Face the facts, men: I can do all that without your help… I don’t need your training sessions.” Then the door closes and Gilbert is gone. 

Of course, Vash gets annoyed and calls for another elevator, muttering angrily to himself about the “self-absorbed, idiotic ex-nation.” He leaves quickly, and Alfred and I are alone. We just kind of stare at each other for a good half-hour, before the American chooses his gun. He has to go through ten guns before he’s able to hit the target. And once he hits it, Alfred smiles at the Ruger New Bearcat Revolver in his hand and puts it to the side with Vash and Gilbert’s guns, then claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t take too long, okay, dude? It’s already six p.m.”

“I won’t,” I reassure him. “I just… work better with no one around.”

Alfred nods and walks toward the elevator, then calls it. When the door opens, he steps inside and looks back at me. “They’ll be okay, you know,” he says. 

I frown and raise an eyebrow. “Who?”

The American smiles bigger and shrugs. “Everyone.” Then the doors close and the elevator brings him upstairs. 

I stay on the Gun Floor until two in the morning, and I still can’t hit the target.


	18. "Don't Blame Me"

"Lovi... Lovi, help me..."

Every night, the nightmares are worse. How am I supposed to lead this... this team when I'm so weak? I know a lot of us are going to die, and I act like I can get over it, but when a friend so much as almost gets taken I cry in my sleep all night long. It's becoming way too much. And early the next morning as I walk into the main room while everyone sleeps upstairs, I see the map and know that everything's about to get worse. Because France and Poland's land have already started to disappear.

...

I wish I could say the others gave me hopeful feedback when I told them about Francis and Feliks, but sadly, that would be too easy.

"Why does it even matter to you what happens to them?" Roderich asks. "You hated both of them your whole life!"

"You're not going to get an argument there," I admit, somewhat ashamed. "But there are others I care about who are affected by this. Feliks was my fratello's best friend-and roommate!" I find Feliciano's devastated face among the others and speak to him. "I don't want you having your own room, now that we know those... things can get past our gate. So you can share my room."

"Or he could stay in my room," says Antonio from a few feet away. "I don't have a roommate anymore, either." On the inside, I am a little upset about not spending time with my brother, but I trust Antonio to watch over him. So I nod.

"Is that why you're 'upset' over Francis?" Gilbert snickers. "Because he's your lover-boy's friend?"

My face turns red, but more from anger than embarrassment. "No. He's your friend, too."

"Then why?"

Looking at all their faces staring at me as they wait for a response, I can't help but feel like the pissed-off boy in the Conference Room from so long ago. They consider me nothing but entertainment, even after all this time. So I reply "Nothing" instead of causing a scene, so they won't feel any satisfaction and I won't have to amuse them.

From off in her dark little corner, Natalia giggles with her almost demonic grin. "It takes a truly horrible leader to simply allow his men to leave, and keep secrets from those who are still here."

"What do you know about leadership?" I snap at her. "You just hide behind your brother for protection, even though the entire time he's trying to push your creepy little self away!"

All I see is Natalia jumping to her feet, and then in a blur she's knocking me over and sitting on top of me as her knife goes for my throat. It happens so fast that the others don't know how to react, so they stay still in shock. Eventually a few jump forward, but Natalia turns and glares at them, her knife still pushing against my arms to get to my nek, so they jump away from her in fear.

She stares into my eyes, pushing harder and harder against my struggle, and my eyes look away for a brief second and fall on Ivan. He doesn't even try to help, just stands there with a slight smile. That smile makes me feel like entertainment again. But unlike five minutes ago, I'm actually going to do something about it.

I push against Natalia with only one arm and slide the other arm from beneath her, then lock my hand around her wrist that holds the knife. Her eyes grow wide as I knee her in the stomach, and when she falls to the side Natalia drops the knife to use her hand to catch herself. I grab the weapon and jump to my feet, gripping the knife behind my back.

"No more weapons for you," I say to the Belarusian girl who glares up at me from the floor. I silently thank God that she didn't sign up for fight training. After a quick glance at the still-smiling Ivan, I toss the knife at Ludwig and he catches it without so much as a blink of an eye. But soon, his expression hardens.

"Training centers," he practically spits at us. "Now."

...

"I'm going to KILL THAT IDIOT!"

Tino sighs and flinches at the volume of my voice. "Lovino, if you're going to yell, please yell quietly, and wait until I finish with your stitches."

"He got my eye, not my mouth," I snap at the little medic. "It's not like I feel any pain, either, just pure... anger."

Tino snips the leftover string and dips a cotton ball into a tray of rubbing alcohol, then dabs it against the cut on the corner of my eye. "Are you okay? Emotionally, I mean."

What kind of a question is that? I try my hardest to form words, but all that comes out is "G-God, Tino! That alcohol burns!" and I slide across the cold metal medical table I'm seated on, pushing him away with one hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Tino packs up his medical tools into a small box, then folds his hands politely and leans in my direction. "You never answered my question."

I stare down at my tattered black pants that were torn during my fight with Gilbert. "Maybe because I don't know how to."

An awkward silence follows, like the ones that make you pick dust off your clothes just so you're not sitting in silence for five minutes. That's what I would do if I had any dust on me, but I don't, so I fidget with my eye instead-and pull one of my stitches loose in the process. "Ow! Oh, God..."

Tino pulls his scissors out again and gently snips the loose string, then gestures to the small beds that surround us in the new "infirmary," or whatever room close to an infirmary we have. "That is it. Lie down. You need your rest."

I mutter a few choice words about "rest" but choose a bed anyway, off in the corner of the room. As I lie on my back and collapse into the soft white sheets, Tino places an ancient-looking pager on the sidetable next to me. "I doubt anything should happen that you'll need me," he explains, "but if you do, just page me. I would stay with you, but training awaits!" He peels off his Latex gloves and throws them away. "Hacking is so much harder than it seems. I can't seem to learn a thing!"

I hold back a smirk as he opens the door to leave. "Maybe you should show as much interest in the computers as you do in the leader."

Tino's hand rests on the doorknob and he gives me a small smile. "Get some rest, Lovino."

The door closes and I stare up at the ceiling to let myself think. It doesn't take long for my eyes to drift close, to let all the stress and worry just wash away...

"You shouldn't make fun of Tino about Berwald like that." The voice snaps me out of my relaxation. My eyes open quickly and I look to my right. Two beds down, Emma lies on her bed, chin propped up on her hand to see me. I take a minute for my heart to recover from the miniature heart attack I just suffered but she only continues, "You're not exactly one to talk about secret lovers."

"Shut up, Emma," I huff with a tiny pout on my face. I finally take a good look at her and frown at what I see. "You look like hell." She does; there are bags under her eyes and her blond hair looks unbrushed. Emma forces a dry, scratched laugh. "Leave it to you to always be honest."

"You hurt your knee, that's it," I say, scrunching my eyebrows together. "So why are you so pale? Why is your voice dry?"

"I don't eat anymore," she replies with a shrug. "I can't. Can't eat, can't sleep, can't think. I haven't talked since Tino dragged me down here. You're lucky I'm talking now," she adds with a cat-like grin, "otherwise the two of us would be lying in silence." She scoffs and shakes her head, looking up at the ceiling. "I miss sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, even when I'm just blinking, I see that face. But it wasn't even a face, just... darkness, darkness everywhere." I look back at her in pity, but she just keeps looking at the roof. "Can you imagine what I'd see in my dreams if I went to sleep?"

"I don't sleep well, either," I admit. Emma doesn't move but her eyes flicker in my direction. "I wake up almost every two hourse. Nightmares about our friends... About Matthew."

Emma carefully pushes herself up into a sitting position, and I can finally see how dangerously thin she's becoe when her pale arms wrap around her thin knees that become visible from beneath her white nightgown. "This is really getting to you, isn't it?"

I nod. "You can't blame me for missing him. I'm busting my butt in training, trying my hardest to become good enough so I can save him. Even if the others don't realize it, I'm trying."

"Is that how you got the cut?" she asks. "Someone challenged you?"

"Gilbert said I wasn't trying hard enough." I grip the bedsheets and take a deep breath to stop myself before I start yelling. "He said if I was working hard, I would have been able to stop Francis from leaving. Then I told him if he'd been doing his job as security that day, Francis wouldn't have been able to even make it to the front door." I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up too, to face Emma. "And that's when he punched me."

Emma gasps and covers her mouth. "Oh, Lovino... I'm so sorry."

"I understand it's hard to lose a friend. I really do. I was upset about Francis fading. I thought maybe he'd be able to save Matthew!" My voice drops volume as I say, "Just don't blame it all on a guy who's actually trying." I kick my feet against the bed and stare as I do it.

Emma hesitates a second, then reaches her arms out to me, like a young child asking to be picked up. "Lovino, come here." I glance up at her sheepishly before getting up and walking over to her side. She pulls me down onto the bed, and when I sit next to her she rests her head against my chest. "We'll be okay," she murmurs, her voice growing softer with every word. "We're all going to be okay..."

Pretty soon her breathing becomes slower and I wait until she's asleep to whisper, "Don't worry, Emma. I'm here. And as long as I'm here, the nightmares won't bother you." I kiss the top of her head and pull her closer. "You can sleep peacefully tonight."

...

The setting: the Master's majestic throne room. Two sets of eyes stare at each other while another set watches from the side. Turkey kneels before his Master, who looks down at him in disgust before whispering the words no brainwashed "Soldier of Darkness" wants to hear: "You failed me."

Turkey drops his head in shame. "Master, I-"

"Look at me when I am addressing you!" the Master demands. And suddenly it is in front Turkey, forcing the man to look at it by pulling his chin upward with its cold fingers. "Not only did you fail to bring me my prisoner, but you also attacked the wrong person!"

Turkey looks at the dark figure with golden eyes full of confusion. "Yes, I did notice that it wasn't Romano, but... who was it?"

"Belgium," the Master sneers. "Her country isn't even an area of interest!" In anger, the Master rises its feet and kicks Turkey with the force of a thousand men, sending the young man flying back several feet. As he struggles back to his feet, the owner of the third set of eyes finally walks to his Master's side, who is now back on the throne.

"So what should I do with Adnan?" Netherlands asks.

"Kill him," the voices whisper, the voices only the Master can hear. "No, no... Torture him. Make him suffer. Make him PAY!" Overcome by their powerful words, the Master leans back in its chair and smirks. "Show him what happens when you disobey."

"Gladly," Netherlands replies. Ignoring Turkey's terrified outbursts, the Master pulls the velvet rope hanging from next to the throne and the floor in front of the two gives way, pulling Turkey into the main dungeon - a place where prisoners are tortured for information. Netherlands picks up a whip from near his feet and jumps into the trapdoor. It closes after him, but the Master can hear the echo of Turkey's muffled screams. It does not worry about Turkey's loyalty, for who can disobey their Master after seeing the harm it can do?

As the Master begins to relax, the doors open again and in walks Denmark and Greece, pulling a man with a bloody shirt with him. They toss the man forward into a kneeling position, his long blond hair falling over his face. "Well, well, well," the Master says, looking off to the side with a grin. "Have you come up with a decision regarding our deal?"

"I have, indeed," France replies. But then his head snaps up and he growls, "And I will never serve you!"

At this, the Master grows infuriated so it whips its head back around to look at the prisoner, its hood falling off completely. "You will serve me whether you want to or not! Men, bring him to his cell!" It sighs. "It seems the brainwashing procedure will have to be a little more forceful this time."

Greece snd Denmark grab one of France's arms each and drag him away. France doesn't fight back though, because he is too busy staring up at the unmasked Master in utter shock.

" ... You?"


	19. "The Prayer"

"Another one bites the dust, huh, South?"

Yeah, literally, I think to myself as I attempt to push myself off the dusty ground outside—and fail anyway, thanks to the pain stabbing at my side. Ludwig groans and crosses his arms. "Bruder, please leave him alone. You already hurt him once. This is now your second time, and you don't want a third."

"Oh, but West," the Prussian says with extreme fake concern, "I'm only doing my job as Assistant Leader for fight training!" His brother shakes his head and joins the others in doing laps around the camp, and Gilbert smirks as he mutters, "Besides, this is what he gets for thinking he can outrun me."

I shut my eyes in embarrassment, and Gilbert takes advantage of my vulnerability to kick a cloud of dust in my face. And though my eyes were closed, it still burns like hell. "Cazzo! Merda, Beilschmidt!" I scream over and over as I pull myself up into a sitting position and rub my eyes helplessly. I continue to scream, even after he walks away, until the tears start.

...

After the mishap with Gilbert, I definitely don't want to go back to training. So I skip. I skip fight training, lunch, gun training, and then dinner. I just sit in my room in silence, wondering why I just had to get involved. Why do I have to be the leader? I can't do this much longer! I can feel the stress affecting me. It's almost impossible to sleep nowadays, and when I walk around it all feels like just a part of a dream. None of it feels real.

I don't want it to be real.

I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes, suddenly feeling so selfish. Here I am, lying on a soft bed, whining about my first-world problems while Matthew lies awake at night on a cold, wet prison floor. It isn't fair. That should be me locked up, not him! He doesn't deserve it, but I do!

I reach behind me and snatch the small map off my dresser, then hold it up and take a few minutes to stare at the barely-visible land mass of Canada. Why him? Is it because he knew who the kidnapper was? Oh, Matthew, why didn't you just tell me?

Three knocks sound on my bedroom door before it creaks open and someone walks in. I don't bother acknowledging his presence; I already know who it is, anyway. He sits on the bed next to me and frowns. "Fratello, are you all right?"

I glance at my brother for a half-second—not a moment longer. "I'm fine. Didn't feel like putting up with Gilbert, is all." Feliciano nods silently and after a few minutes, I sigh. "Okay. Can you answer a question for me?"

Feli scoots closer to me. "Well... I can sure try, ve~!"

"Why the hell do bad things happen to good people?"

He doesn't answer, not right away. Not until two minutes pass, then he stands and holds his hand out. I glare at the outstretched hand and Feli responds, "Fratello, you don't have to take it. Just follow me, per favore."

With a sigh, I rise from the bed and trudge into the hallway before remembering I have no idea where we're going. So I wait for Feli to lead the way, to the staircase. He darts down the steps but I take my time. I never realized how dead silent the building is when everyone's either outside or in their rooms. It's... hauntingly beautiful. I wish the world was always this silent.

I wish I knew what made me even think that.

When I finally catch up to Feliciano at the foot of the stairs, he grabs my arm and pulls me to the elevator, and when it arrives he presses the button for the eighth sublevel. "What—I thought we agreed, no wandering around! None of us have been down there!"

Feliciano looks at me with a mischievous smile. "I have."

"Okay, I don't think I like this—this idea..." I'm cut off when the doors open, revealing the most beautiful place I've ever seen. It's pretty simple, but it's also just that: pretty. A large table serves as an altar at the front of the room, complete with any decorations and details that are needed. There are a few small kneelers with cushions made of red velvet. Placed to the side is a smaller table filled with prayer candles, and many of them seem to have been previously lit. And to top it all off, a silver cross hangs from the wall behind the altar. It's not too big and not too small, and it's... amazing. My brother built a chapel.

I step out of the elevator and stand there in shock for a good five minutes, but Feliciano lights another prayer candle and bows his head. "I figured you could use a prayer, ve~ I found the candles upstairs and built the pews with some wood and material that was lying around."

Finally I remember how to move, and I glide my hand along the "altar," staring at the cross the entire time. "Where did you get that?"

Feliciano turns to see what I'm talking about. "Oh, the cross? Doitsu made it."

I want more than anything to be angry. That idiot should be focusing on building our weapons, nothing else. And the silver from that cross probably could have been used for someone's sword. But I just can't be angry. I can't. "Never ask him to build anything for you again," I manage.

Feli smiles as he walks to my side. "I didn't as him. It was his idea." Before I can say anything else, Feliciano takes his place at one of the kneelers and makes the Sign of the Cross. I do the same, but sit farther away from him at the very front. "Please watch over us," I whisper. "If someone is up there, please protect the others. Make me a good leader, a leader they all deserve. And above all, keep Matthew safe. He is the greatest friend I've ever known and ever will know." I bow my head. "And if the time comes, please make me willing to die for this cause."

A few feet away, Feliciano glances in my direction. "Do you think it's okay if I sing my prayer? I'm not too good at this. I-It's been awhile..."

"That's fine," I mutter. "Just keep it down a bit, okay?" Once it gets silent, I begin to wonder if there really is a God. Sure, I was raised to believe there was, but if God really existed, why would He allow all of this to happen to us? But then my brother starts to sing, and I remember why I believe.

"I pray you'll be our eyes," he sings softly, "and watch us where we go/And help us to be wise/In times when we don't know/Let this be our prayer/When we lose our way." I look at him and see he's smiling, eyes closed, completely engulfed in his prayer. "Lead us to a place/Guide us with your grace/To a place where we'll be safe."

I bow my head once again, take a deep breath, and open my mouth to join him—but in the language I'm most comfortable with. "La luche che tu dai/Nel cuore resterà/A ricodarchi che/L'eterna stella sei." I know Feliciano's been singing English after I sing Italian, but when I sing "Nella mia preghiera/Quanta fede c'è," he gets up and kneels next to me on the ground, singing, "Let this be our prayer/When shadows fill our day."

"Lead us to a place," we sing together, "guide us with your grace/Give us faith so we'll be safe."  
"Sogniamo un mondo senza più violenza." We dream of a world without violence.  
"Un mondo di giustizia e di speranza." A world of justice and hope.  
"Ognuno dia la mano al suo vicino." Everyone give a hand to his neighbor.  
"Simbolo di pace e di fraternità." A symbol of peace and brotherhood.

I open my eyes, as tears roll down my cheeks, to gaze up at the cross. I continue to sing in Italian as Feliciano sings immediately after me in English. I'm not sure about Feliciano, but I think the next words we sing are the most honest words to ever leave my mouth:

"La forza che ci dia." "We ask that life be kind."

"È il desiderio che." "And watch us from above."

"Ognuno trovi amore..." "We hope each soul will find..."

"Intorno e dentro a sè." "Another soul to love."

"Let this be our prayer," Feliciano adds, taking my hand in his, "just like every child."

I can't help but think of Matthew when I join my brother's song. "Need to find a place/Guide us with your grace/Give us faith so we'll be safe." I squeeze Feli's hand, and our voices seem to grow stronger with our final words: "E la fede che/Hai acceso in noi/Sento che ci salverai."

Feliciano smiles at me and I smile back, suddenly a million-times stronger than before. How could I even doubt God? Yes, bad things happen around us, but He gave us a safe place to live. He blessed me with a best friend, a lover, and a little brother to remind me of it all. And just knowing someone is watching from up there... That's enough to keep me going.

A sound comes from the back of the room, and we turn around to see all of our friends standing by the elevator door, speechless. They all look really shocked (but in a good way), except for one: Emma stands among them, toward the front of the crows, a blanket wrapped around her small, frail shoulders, smiling as if to say, "I knew you had a heart."

...

The next morning, I wake up at a pretty good time. I didn't stay up all night, but I also didn't sleep late. I slept well, actually—no nightmares. It felt good to actually get some rest. Tino would be proud of me. I see a few people on my way to the kitchen, and they all wish me a good morning. Not that I need it; the day already feels great—until I reach the kitchen and open the cabinets for a glass. The pain comes suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, and I drop the glass, but the loud pounding of my heart drowns out the sound of it shattering on the ground.

Sinking to my knees, I begin to feel as though someone is whipping my back, pulling my hair, and breaking my bones, one by one. It is, without a doubt, the most painful thing I've felt in my entire life. "S-Stop," I choke out, clutching my head in my hands. "Mio Dio, please, just make it stop!"

"Lovi?" Antonio appears in the kitchen and kneels in front of me, apparently not caring about the glass on the ground that could cut him. I attempt to remember if he was in the room when I walked in, but give up. My brain is barely functioning. "Oh, my God." His voice sounds muffled, and I can barely hear him. "What happened?" He begs for an answer, but I can't respond. Words are too much. "Lovino, listen to me. What happened?"

I use every last bit of strength I have to look up at him and reply, "G-Get me to the World Map. Now."

Antonio shakes his head. "No, Lovi. You need to stay still—"

"D*mn you," I growl, pushing myself off the cold floor. With the world spinning around me I drag myself to the main room, Antonio following close behind and protesting. When I finally reach the giant map on the wall, I put a hand against it to keep my balanced as my biggest fear is confirmed. Antonio gets behind me and gasps. "Oh, no..."

At that moment Ludwig barges into the room and joins us, a look of terror on his face. He cries out, "Feliciano is gone!"

Antonio places a comforting hand on my shoulder as he and I stare at the fading northern half of Italy, then turns to Ludwig and mutters, "We know."

My brother is gone.


	20. A Little Determination

"Everybody, up! Up, NOW!"

"Jeez, Ludwig..."

"Hey! Don't touch my pan! I'm trying to cook, here!"

"I don't care. In the main room!"

Voices call from all around the building as Ludwig tries to get everyone in the main room, where Antonio puts his arm around me on the couch. I'm not crying. Crying shows weakness. No, I'm gritting my teeth against the pain, eyes staring ahead at nothing. Gilbert walks in the room, white hair a mess and red eyes droopy and tired, and yawns in my direction. "All right, 'ya losers. What's all this fuss about? Why's my brother throwing a hissy fit?"

"Those aren't strong enough words to describe what Little Luddy is doing," Elizaveta scoffs as she and some others trail in. She flips her frying pan in the air and catches the handle in her right hand while standing next to Gilbert. "This better be important. For goodness' sake, he tried to take my pan!"

"It's pretty important," Ludwig growls, dragging the leftover people into the main room. He slams his fist on the map, right on the Mediterranean, drawing attention to my country. My brother's country... "THIS"—he punches the wall again and we all jump—"is MUCH more important to me than your godforsaken pan."

Everyone has to move closer in order to see, but it's obvious when they notice it because I hear Elizaveta's frying pan fall to the ground, almost in slow-motion. Gilbert knows SHE’S going to go down next, so he reaches out and grabs her arm. Everybody else just stares in silence, no sounds except for the Hungarian girl muttering, "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

Gilbert turns to look at me, and everyone does the same. "L-Little meatball?" I don't know why he uses my nickname from Alfred's party at first, until Antonio wipes a trail of blood from my mouth with his bare hand the second after I feel like I've been punched. He pulls me closer and glares at them. "Is this 'important' enough for you guys?"

"There's no way that's possible," Lukas retorts.

I take a deep breath. "I wouldn't think so, either. But guess what? I can FEEL what my little brother is going through. Sounds crazy, I know! But believe me, it is VERY possible and very, VERY painful." Luckily, the pain begins to stop and I only feel sore. At least I know Feli is through with being tortured for the time being.

"I have a question." Katyusha jumps forward, her blond hair in knots. "Well, it's more that I need to make sure I understand something. The only reason you can feel the pain is because you're the same country, right? 'Two hearts beat as one' and all that. Not because you're brothers, is that it?"

"Not sure," I say with a frown. "I'd assume that's it, but MAYBE it's the brother-thing. Alfred, did this happen to you with Mat—" I look at all the faces before me and then double-check. Then I slowly ask, "Where are Alfred and Arthur?"

Chaos ensues as everyone searches the crowd for the two. No use; they aren't there. "I walked past everyone's room and they weren't in theirs," Ludwig admits. "I just figured they were already down here."

Antonio gets up to see the map. After a moment, he sits back down and whispers it in my ear: America and England aren't fading, but glowing. I've decided a glowing country means they have been kidnapped, just not yet tortured. So I glance up at everyone and nod. "Gone."

Little Peter gets this crazy look in his eyes, then runs up to Ludwig and kicks the German's legs and feet. "Why didn't you say something sooner?!" he cries. "Th-Those are my brothers! You jerk, I..." He stops attacking Ludwig and crumples to the ground in tears. "I-I hate you..."

Then the weirdest thing happens: Ludwig picks Peter off the floor and holds him comfortingly in his arms like one would hold a toddler. "Hate me all you want," he mutters. "You have the right to."

We all just stay silent after that, the only sound being Peter's quiet sobs muffled into Ludwig's shirt. I hang my head and let my hair fall over my face. This is absolutely insane. Three gone overnight. How did none of us notice? My thoughts are interrupted by Emma stumbling into the room; her limp seems to have gotten worse. Tino rushes to her side, seemingly guilty that he forgot to get her from the infirmary. "Sorry I took so long," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "What did I miss?"

No one speaks. They want me to tell her. So I lift my head and look in her direction, though my eyes focus on nothing. "They made it personal." Maybe this is what the kidnapper wants. Maybe he/she/it wants me to get angry so I'll go after him. Well, that's what will happen. Take my friend, you've got me angry. Attack my first crush, you'd better watch your back. But hurt my little fratello and you are dead meat.

...

Punch. "Again." I follow Yao's orders and start the form again: Block his arm, go for his shoulder, then pull him so his back faces me and punch the side of his jaw. That's what I'm supposed to do, anyway, but I keep chickening out at that last punch and miss. Maybe it's because I'm scared to hurt him. That, or I can't focus on anything but my brother. I can still feel his pain—just not physically.

Yao sighs and pulls himself out of my grasp. "You have to go through with that last punch. I'm going to duck out of the way, but you're going way too slow and wouldn't hit your opponent, aru."

"I don't want to hurt you," I half-apologize. "That's why I'm hesitating."

A slow smile creeps onto Yao's face. "Really, aru? Then I guess I'll have to give you an opponent you're not afraid to hurt." He taps his chin and examines everyone on the Fighting Side as I silently chant, Anyone but the German. Anyone but the German. "Hm. Gilbert."

I see how it is, Fate. I beg for "anyone but a German" and you give me a Prussian. Great, not like that's worse or anything. No, not at all. Gilbert jumps forward and takes Yao's place, as Yao lays out the ground rules: "Okay, you two. Stick to the form, and play fair. No fighting dirty, aru." He obviously directs this more to Gilbert than me.

"No promises," the Prussian responds. "I always fight dirty." I have to scoff at that comment. Gilbert smirks and throws a punch, and to follow the form I block him. I do as I'm supposed to and go for his shoulder, but when I turn him away from me Gilbert breaks the form and kicks straight into my stomach. I groan and fall to the ground.

"HEY!" Ludwig comes up and grabs his brother's arm. "Bruder, I thought I told you to stop hurting him. And Yao gave you very clear rules to follow, rules you just broke."

Gilbert yanks his arm away. "'Rules'?" he snarls. "You think your enemy on the battlefield follows the rules? Think your opponent 'plays fair'? Well, think again. The world fights dirty. I was just giving him a taste of reality"—He stares down at me and shrugs—"something little Lovino here isn't prepared for. You're weak."

That word echoes over and over again in my head. Weak. Weak. I am not weak. That little jerk thinks I don't know anything about reality? I've lost my brother and best friend.

Come back to me when you lose someone you care about. Then we'll talk.

...

"Think about what you hate more than anything," Vash whispers from next to me. "Channel that hatred and anger, and shoot." He places a rifle in my outstretched hand and takes a step back.

I position the gun against my shoulder and aim. "I'll tell you what I hate. I hate Prussians." I shoot, but the bullet doesn't hit the target's center. "They don't care about anyone but themselves." That one goes into the wall. "They keep on bullying the harmless guy!" I pull the trigger but nothing happens, so I keep trying until I resort to hitting it against my hand. "It isn't working!"

"It's out of shells, Vargas," Vash growls, snatching the gun away. "Be careful with these!"

Now I feel bad. "I'm sorry, Vash," I apologize with a sigh. "I'm wasting all your bullets and I don't even have my own gun yet. I'm just not good at this."

"Well, you said it yourself: you're harmless." Vash points at me, nodding. "And that's what we're going to change." He looks at the Gun Wall for a moment, then grabs a weapon I would have chosen if I'd ever seen it: a black Desert Eagle. I continue to stare at the target as he positions the gun in my hand for me. "You don't hate Gilbert. You're frustrated by him, but there's no hatred. Here's your new question: How much do you love your brother?"

"More than words can describe," I answer. Vash nods; he understands. "That's how I feel with Lili," he tells me. "Whenever I lose determination, I think of how I'm trying to keep her safe from the kidnapper. I channel my hatred for whoever is doing this, and that's how I shoot. Here." He takes both my shoulders and turns me so the target (which I'm still staring at) is no longer in front of me, but to my right. Vash drops his voice to a whisper again. "That is not a target twenty feet away from you. No, that's the enemy standing there. Visualize them. How tall are they? Male or female? Decide, and see them."

It's a lot easier that it seems: I imagine an average-sized man with a cloak covering his face. That's all I can see of him, but it's enough to fuel my anger. "I see him," I mutter through gritted teeth, my hold on the gun growing tighter.

"That person hurt your little brother," Vash snarls in my ear. "He hurt your best friend, and he attempted to hurt you. You want to destroy him, don't you? But he's powerful, Lovino Vargas, and you can NEVER beat him—"

I don't even notice my arm rising. I don't realize I pulled the trigger until I hear the shot, and watch as the bullet hits the target right in the very center. Surprise washes over me—I finally found my gun and shot the target. All I needed was a little determination.

Vash had released my shoulders, but he pats one as I smile down at my gun. "You're ready."

...

"Oh, you should have seen it, Emma. It was perfect! Right in the center!"

Emma smiles at me from her "hospital" bed. "I'm glad you proved to Gil that you're not just a weak, little boy."

I blink in confusion and frown. "What do you mean?"

"He was there, wasn't he? Gilbert takes gun training, so didn't he see this all happen?"

I sit up straight, realizing that only Vash and I had veen on the Gun Floor, because Alfred's gone missing. But Gilbert... "He skipped training," I mutter, then hop off the bed and walk out without another word.

I find him in his room, listening to music on his phone. Though he has headphones in, I can hear the song almost clearly: Linkin Park's "In the End." He doesn't even see me when I walk in, so I yank his phone away and throw it to the side. The screen shatters, and Gilbert finally looks up at me. "Can I help you?"

"You skipped training," I answer.

"Thanks for noticing."

"Why?"

"What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" I sneer. "We need to get better. You may already know what you're doing, but that's no reason to skip completely—"

"This has nothing to do with me 'knowing what I'm doing,' Vargas," he replies harshly, red eyes burning into mine. "That may have been the reason before, but not this time."

"Then what?!"

Gilbert takes a deep breath before he sits up, leaning his back against the headboard of his bed. "There's no point to it. To any of it. Do you really think any of our hard work is going to matter?" I begin to reply, but he cuts me off. "It won't. None of this is going to work."

Che diavolo? Is Linkin Park brainwashing him or something? I take a step back. "How can you say that?"

"It's an inspirational idea, I'll admit," he sighs. "'A group of misfits can survive global destruction' and all that. But we're going to die, Lovino." Gilbert lies on his back again and closes his eyes, getting comfortable. "And if these are my last weeks to live, I'm not going to waste my time doing things that aren't going to matter."

There's no point arguing. I know that. So I give up and leave the room, but not before turning back to the Prussian so I can say, "And you call ME weak."

And he doesn't even know how to respond.

...

So after Antonio demands I tell him the whole story, he takes my side of the argument and leaves it at that. But once the words are out of my mouth, I understand why Gilbert's worried and decide maybe I was too hard on him. So I go to apologize—yes, you read that right. Don't be so shocked! But the idiot isn't in his room. So I check downstairs, but he isn't down there—but he should be, since tonight is his night for security. In fact, no one is down there. I pace back and forth near the stairs, wondering where the hell he could be, when my thoughts are cut short by music. Piano music. Coming from nearby.

I follow the sound, and it leads me to a door hidden in the back of the hall that I've never seen before. It brings me to a large, dark room with a single light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. And right below the bulb, engulfed in the only light in the entire room, Gilbert and Roderich are sitting side-by-side, playing a grand piano.

My first thought is, How did that get in here? I doubt the Nazis had much use for a piano. I consider speaking, but something about the scene is so comforting that I can't. First off, I know the song; Roderich attempted to teach it to me years ago. But second, they both look so happy. That's an emotion that's rare these days. So I quietly walk off to a corner as far from them as possible. They don't notice; their backs are to me and they're distracted, anyway. I just sit there and listen.

After a bit Roderich stops and lets Gilbert play the song on his own. The Austrian stands and walks around the piano, hands folded behind his back. "You've been holding out on me," he praises. I have to agree—Gil is really good.

"I'm not that great," Gilbert responds, casually glancing up from the keys. "I'll never be as good as you, Specs."

"Nevertheless. Keep going." The Prussian obeys, and he continues to play my favorite part: the song builds and you hold the note, and all of a sudden you play the first section again. Gilbert reaches that point and holds the note, smiling up at Roderich as he does so. Not smirking, but smiling. A real, genuine smile.

And that's when the shadow appears behind him.

I don't see it until Roderich reacts. "Gilbert, look out!" He slides onto the piano bench and pushes Gilbert off, so the shadow grabs him instead. They both disappear in a cloud of black smoke.

Gilbert is still in shock, so I run to him from the corner before he starts screaming. "Gi—Gilbert, look at me," I demand, both of his arms in my grasp.

"They took him," he whispers, then raises his voice. "Those freaks took him! I'll—I'll kill them—!"

"You need to breathe," I reply. Gilbert finally takes a shaky breath and quiets down. "Now," I say hesitantly, "I know you're upset. But maybe now you understand me. You can't just give up. Even if we all die, we need to try to save them."

"Is that the way you see it?" I nod, and Gilbert takes another breath before he looks at me with a new expression in his eyes. His determination. "You and me, Lovino, we're gonna kill them. And we're gonna kill them together."

...

"Quit falling. Hurry up!"

Austria doesn't fight back; he doesn't have the energy. But as the grey-clad soldier pulls him along the narrow dungeon hallways, the pain from the whips causes him to fall numerous times. And every time his captor yanks him back to his feet—the same captor Austria now stares up at with pleading eyes. "Have pity on me. It hurts so much."

"You've only been here a few hours," France replies. "It'll get a lot worse if you don't cooperate. Now shut up and let's go." He pulls Austria to his feet again, but the man is down after a few steps. He collapses in front of a cell and when he looks over, Austria sees a cluster of young nations staring at him. He clutches onto the cell bars and begs, "Your master said he didn't know where to put me. So please, let me stay here with them."

France thinks it over. "Fine," he says after a moment, as he pries Austria off the cell door only to kick him in. "But only until the Master decides what to do with you."

Once he is gone, the prisoner tries to overcome the pain with deep breaths, until a small voice from behind distracts him. "Mister Austria?" Austria expects the Italian to run up to him before he notices the chain clasped around his and all the others' ankles. "Oh, my God. Italy." Despite the pain, Austria darts to the boy and feels his face. "Are you all right?"

"We're okay," Italy insists with a tiny, broken laugh. "We're so tired that it weakens the pain, ve..."

"All of you need to rest," the Austrian states, looking over them all. "Gather around. I'll tell you a story, if you'd like."

So the young ones get a bit closer, all of them: Lithuania, Poland, Luxembourg, Monaco, Seychelles, Iceland, Liechtenstein, Canada, and Italy. They all begin to close their eyes as Italy, the only one strong enough to speak, asks, "Can you tell us a story about a hero? Sometimes it's nice to think about the good guy."

A hero, hmm? Austria knows, as he pulls Italy comfortingly against his chest, that this story would be one the kids had never heard before. But it is a story about a true hero, not just some flying man with a cape, and he decides they need to hear it. So he allows himself to smile and begins. "Once upon a time, there was a boy who no one took seriously..."


	21. Ready

Austria's little stunt was not welcomed. In fact, it was because of this that the Master ordered every prisoner to be put in their own individual jail cell. So now, the loyal soldiers follow their orders and unlock the jail cells—all at once. Nobody realized how noticeable an electronic event like this is. They also don't know one of the world's best-trained hackers is monitoring for any unusual fluxes of activity such as this, and they have now been located.

…

"I'm kind of glad everyone's doing so much better."

"Mm-hmm." I know Antonio is listening—or at least pretending to, anyway—and I want to keep talking about how fine and dandy everything is, but it's hard to not get distracted when you're lying against your boyfriend's chest.

"I mean, we're finally getting along, working hard, and getting stronger," I continue. "Look what's happened in a short amount of time. Gilbert and I hate each other a little less, I officially have my gun—it's actually the type from my Mafia days, you know—and I can outrun most of the people on our team."

I use the word so casually, but it has so much impact. We really are finally acting like a team. All of us work together, not against each other, now. And I'm happy to call myself a part of this team.

Antonio laughs a little and responds, "I'm very proud of you, Lovi. I really am. You're right; you've come such a long way." Then he gently places a hand under my chin and pulls my face closer to his. "Looks like you grew up on me, Little Lovi."

I s0mile up at him, quickly giving him a kiss. It's short, but it's still the first kiss we've had since all of this started. I never realized before how much I missed kissing him. It feels like home.

The door opens just as I pull away. "Lovin—Oh." I sit up to face a very flustered Berwald, who rarely every leaves the Technology Center unless I call for a meeting. "I'm sorry. S-Should I come back later?"

He's twitching, looking around the room with a look of hidden excitement. If Berwald wants to talk, it must be important, so I shake my head. "What is it?" I ask gently, assuming someone has been taken or even hurt. But instead of crying, he looks me in the eye and grins.

"Lovino… We found them."

…

"I need everyone to promise me that they won't freak out after I say what needs to be said."

Ivan swings his pipe around and yawns unenthusiastically. I thought I told Ludwig to confiscate that thing unless we were in training! "Comrade, it's late. None of us have the energy to 'freak out.'"

I share a knowing glance with Berwald, who has been attempting to hold back a smile since we called everyone to the main room. "If you say so." I take a deep breath—more for effect than anything else—before continuing, "Berwald located the spot where our friends have been taken."

A vast variety of emotions appear on everyone's faces. First, the strong doubt. Could our friends really have been found? Then a look of sudden understanding. But what if Berwald really did find them after all? And finally, complete excitement. Yes, it's true; our friends will be home soon. Gilbert is the first to speak. He comes forward from his spot by the door, red eyes wide. "Vargas, a-are you serious? How…?"

"Berwald here was running a scan over most of the world," I explain, repeating what I had been told earlier. "He noticed a suspicious flux of electronic activity an hour ago and traced it to some island in the North Sea. Not that far from here. Then he hacked a few satellite cameras and found out the island is home to a large castle and not much else. This castle," I add slowly, "is patrolled by people in grey hoods."

From her place on the sofa, Emma raises a hand to her mouth and gasps. "G-Grey hoods?" she repeats quietly.

It's clear by everybody's expressions that the words sound familiar and important, but no one can place why. Finally, Katyusha remembers and asks Emma, "Didn't you say whoever attacked you wore a grey hood?"

Emma's eyes widen in fear, but after a moment she smiles. "Oh, Lovino… Berwald… You did find them."

Everybody erupts into loud cheers then. I have more to say, of course, but decide to let them have their fun. Nobody here has really smiled or laughed since this war started. It's nice to see everyone so happy, even if just for a moment.

And for the first time, I'm happy too. I'm getting my brother back.

After a little while the others begin to quiet down, so I seize the opportunity and continue my talk. "Listen up, team," I say, looking at them all. "I am very proud of you. Look at all we've accomplished during our short time here. I mean, a few months ago we couldn't even hold a conference without yelling. And now? Look at us! Somehow we've managed to not kill each other!" At this, the others laugh as Gilbert sends a thumbs-up my way.

"You've been a great leader, my dear Lovino," Emma praises. "That little boy picking tomatoes in the orchard is all grown-up!" Next to me, Antonio nods in agreement, and she continues, "And I can't wait to fight alongside him."

Her words catch me a bit off-guard. "Fight? Emma, what are you talking about? You're injured."

"Yes, but I can walk without a problem now. Isn't that right, Tino?" The Finnish boy opens his mouth to speak, but Emma cuts him off. "Besides, I signed up to fight for a reason: to keep my siblings safe." She glances around the room, rising to her feet. "Not one of you here can say you don't understand what it feels like to be protective of your family."

I want her to sit down. I want her to go back to bed and sleep while the rest of us fight. I don't want her to get hurt. But I know that if I protest at all, I'll appear to be a hypocrite. "All right," I surrender. "Maybe you can… be a Hacker or something…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Vargas," Vash calls out, and I can see a few tears in his eyes from thinking about his sibling. "Let the girl fight."

"God, okay!" Come on, Emma. Please don't make me watch you get hurt. I couldn't forgive myself for that. I take a deep breath and begin again. "There's no time to waste. We need to get over there as soon as possible. How are the different teams doing?"

"I think the soldiers are ready," Yao answers. "Everyone knows the forms well, aru."

"And the basic skills have been well-learned," Ludwig adds on to Yao's comment. "I am positive they are ready and prepared."

"My hackers know their jobs," Berwald says with a nod.

"And my men handle their guns without an issue," Vash agrees.

"Speaking of guns and hackers," I remember, "we can't run the risk of having our unarmed Hackers get caught. So we might need someone with a gun to protect them."

"Well, we can't use someone from training," Vash points out gruffly. "There are only three of us: you, me, and Gilbert. And all three of us are needed to fight."

"I could do it," a tiny yet confident voice announces. Quickly, Tino runs up to me. "I'm not too great at hacking, anyways. And I can learn how to use a gun."

"I could teach you after everyone here is dismissed," Vash offers. "But you have to be ready if anyone tries to hurt them. Your instincts have to be on-point."

"We'll be travelling in a van," Berwald tells him. "The second that door opens, be prepared. Because if it's not someone on this team—"

Tino interrupts, an innocent smile on his face. "Then I'll blow their fucking brains out."

I don't think I've ever seen the Nordics look so proud.

"I guess it all comes down to you, Lovino," Lukas says from somewhere in the crowd. "We're all ready. Are you?"

A question I've been asking myself for awhile. Will I ever be ready to take a risk as huge as this? Instead of beating around the bush, I answer honestly: "I've been ready."

Soon everyone is smiling at me, and I finally feel like a leader. "Tino, go to the Gun Floor with Vash. Everyone else, get to sleep. We leave tomorrow."

…

Back in his castle, the Master sits back on his throne, fingering the gold locket that hangs around his neck in discomfort. In his other hand, the small mirror that he uses to spy on his prisoners without having to be in the same room as them. For the first time, the Master feels a strong emotion engulf him: guilt. He feels guilty for hurting these nations he used to call friends.

_Don't grow a conscious now,_ one of the eerie voices whisper. The Master clutches the locket tighter when he hears the voice, since that is where it comes from. _Come on now, young one. You have all this power; you don't need "love." And that is because…?_

"Power is stronger than love," the Master finishes, feeling his guilt lessen more and more by the minute. In all honesty, the Master did not believe this. But the more he said it, the more he began to believe it.


	22. The Truth Comes Out

The next morning, I’m up before the sun is. The rest of the army sleeps in, and I let them. They needed their sleep, anyway. But I didn’t; as soon as I sat up in bed, I felt wide awake.

I also let Gilbert rest instead of guarding the door. Nobody went missing or anything in the middle of the night, so we’re all okay. And after a while of strolling around the building, I go outside and watch the sun rise through the gate.

The sun feels like a curse this morning. It marks the start of a new day, yeah—but I wish this day would never have come. 

…

They wake up one by one. The first one awake is actually Raivis—someone I knew was there but rarely heard from. I’m sitting on the sofa, but he doesn’t see me as he walks into the dining room. A minute later, I hear him cry. Out of concern, I almost go to comfort him. But then I realize everyone will probably cry when they wake up and discover today is the day. We promised to never fight like this again, and now one of us has broken that promise. There is… unfortunately… a good chance that any one of us could die. 

At least if we die, we die heroes.

But it’s just such a shame that someone as young as Raivis—and even little Peter—has to go through this.

Slowly, everyone starts appearing around the building. Most of them immediately head downstairs to get their weapons. The hackers start packing up their equipment so they can put all of it in the van. I actually don’t even know where this stupid van is coming from. All I know is we’ll be using a type of ferry so we can bring it with us across water.

After some time, Gilbert sits next to me, placing two black cases by our feet. “Your gun and supplies are in there,” he says, pointing to the one closest to me.

I don’t even want to *use* the gun, much less look at its case. “Grazie,” I mutter simply.

We sit there for a minute, silent, until finally the van drives up to the camp’s gate. I can hear the engine. Gilbert and I go outside and kill the gate so the electricity will stop. For the first time, the quiet hum of electricity silences, and the others begin to pack up their supplies into the van.

“How did you find someone to drive us?” I ask as we take our gun cases and organize them in the back of the car, which—thanks to Berwald and Eduard—is already turning into a moving computer center.

Gilbert flashes me a smirk, but there’s little energy behind it. “Old World War friend of mine. Called him on my cell. And before you say anything, yes, I *did* shut my phone off afterwards.” I had left a note on everyone’s doors before bed, requesting that they turn off their phones and leave them at the camp so we can’t get tracked. Good for him, finally listening to me.

Everyone eventually piles into the van, carefully choosing a spot that won’t affect the computers. Most of the others sleep, since it will be such a long drive. I sit in one of the corners, between Antonio and Emma. Emma has her leg outstretched since it hurts to bend it. Once she falls asleep with her head on my shoulder, I gently rub her injured knee with my thumb, hoping the injury won’t affect her fighting in any way. Antonio takes my other hand in his, seeing my concern. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers to me. “This was her decision.”

“She’s not ready,” I reply sharply, under my breath. “Emma hasn’t been to training in a long time. She’s weak right now, and I don’t want her getting hurt…”

Antonio quietly laughs, fairly amused. “How long have we known Emma? She’s stronger than we give her credit for.”

He keeps talking, but I don’t hear him. I’m too distracted. At first, I thought I would only be affected if Matthew, Feliciano, Antonio, or Emma were hurt. But now, looking around at the people in the van, I wonder how I could handle if *any* of them got hurt. And I begin to pray.

…

“Lovino? Lovino.”

“Huh? What? Oh.” I shake my head, coming back to reality. “Sorry. What’s happening, again?”

“I said, come move closer to the van doors,” Ludwig repeats for my sake. “We’ll be getting out shortly.”

Apparently, I had been spaced out for awhile. I remember the van driving onto the ferry, but I don’t remember getting off at the island. But sure enough, our van is on land again. All I know is we’re near the North Sea; I don’t even know the island’s coordinates or where exactly we are.

"Yeah. Okay." I scoot forward, weaving my way through the rows of computers, toward the other "soldiers" of our team. Ludwig is crouched nearest to the doors, clutching a German Mauser C96. Technically, since Ludwig is using a gun, he should have done gun training with Vash. But since he’s so skilled with fighting, we decided not to make him train. Besides, everyone else has basically one weapon, whereas Ludwig can use whatever weapon that is available to him, and it would’ve been too hard for him to train with each weapon. 

After a long look at each individual team member, I see that I’m not the only one who’s zoning out. A few others—Gilbert, Vash, and Yao, to name a few—also have that glazed-over look in their eyes. Fighting is not something any of us like to do. It’s not a hobby; it’s a skill that’s forced upon us that we secretly hope to never put in use. 

“All right, everyone. Let’s go over this one more time,” Ludwig announces. “When the van stops, we are going to slowly and quietly pile out and hide in the trees. Lovino is going to try to sneak inside the castle. He’ll choose one other person as his back-up. If he gets inside, he will signal us some way and we’ll tell the Hackers to start unlocking the jail cells. Once the grey soldiers start noticing, that’s when we attack. I want us to get this done as quickly and cleanly as possible.”

“Gilbert.” He turns to look at me, emotion beginning to show again in his red eyes. “I want Gilbert as my back-up.”

“You got it, South,” he replies with a wink.

…

Sneaking into the castle is a lot easier than expected. All of the doors are unlocked, so really we just have to get past the hooded soldiers. Once that’s done, Gilbert and I walk through the castle’s corridors, hiding in the shadows, guns in hand. 

We only come close to getting caught one time. Gil hears the footsteps before I do, so he quickly pulls me into another corridor. We wait, pressed up against the wall, to see who had been behind us. Soon after, two girls walk right where we had been. One falls down due to the chains around her ankles. “It hurts…” she whimpers.

The other girl yanks her up by her black hair and spits, “_Shut up._”

That’s when we see her face. For a quick second, her face becomes visible from underneath her grey hood, and I recognize the familiar features of Vietnam. Her prisoner scrambles back to her feet and they disappear down the hall, but Gilbert and I still wait a moment before going back to where we were. “Was that… Taiwan?” he whispers to me.

I nod. “I think so. But why was Vietnam being so cruel to her? They care about each other. Don’t they?”

“They’ve always had a weird relationship,” Gilbert answers, recalling things Kiku has probably said. “It’s just… Lovino…” He shakes his head, bewildered. “Are her eyes always that gold?”

I frown, thinking about what he’s just said. Yeah, I’ve always known that her eyes are a gold color, but they always seemed to look more honey than gold. But just now, they looked gold as the sun. Very haunting, and… familiar…

“Gilbert.” I take a deep breath, heart pounding in my chest, before I say, “When we were driving to the camp for the first time… our driver had golden eyes just like that.”

It takes him a minute to register what I’m saying, but then I see the understanding in his eyes. “Oh, this can’t be good.” I nod, agreeing, and suddenly we both start talking at the same time about various things. ‘We should just turn back now,’ ‘No, we can’t do that, we have to keep going,’ that kind of nonsense. Finally Gilbert surrenders, sighing. “Okay, how about this? I know we agreed not to split up, but you and I can both see that there’s two corridors we can go down now.” He gestures to the end of the hall, which has a fork in it, and continues, “I think one of us should go down one hall and follow the girls, see if we can find the prisoners. The other should try the other way.”

“That’s probably the best idea,” I agree. “But neither of us goes far. We just go far enough to see what’s down there, and then we meet back up here. Deal?”

“Yeah. Okay.” I can see Gilbert’s now getting nervous, but he doesn’t falter. He has too much determination for that. “I’ll follow the girls.”

“And I’ll go the other way,” I reply back, but he’s not listening, already making his way down the corridor. I take another deep breath and head down the corridor on the right, which looks dark and empty. In fact, after a few moments of walking around, it seems that *nobody* is around the area. I almost turn back, but a firm hand grabs my shoulder and turns me around for me. I find myself face-to-face to the same brilliant gold eyes I had seen on Vietnam, and almost scream. But the hand clamps itself over my mouth.

“Lovino! Dude, shut it! It’s just me!”

I pry the hand off of my mouth and whisper back. “Alfred?” The American in front of me smiles weakly and shrugs. I find myself about to give him a hug, but stop abruptly when I remember his eyes. “Y-Your eyes are golden, Al. What’s wrong with your eyes?!”

“Lovino, shut up!” His hand comes down again, but it doesn’t seem too forceful, just afraid. “Look, man, these are contacts. I swear. But you need to listen to me, cool?” I nod silently and let him speak. “The others here, they’ve been brainwashed. He did something to them if they were unwilling to cooperate, but I tricked him. Don’t ask how, because I barely know myself. And I got these contacts so he thinks I’m brainwashed like the rest of them.”

“‘He.’” My voice is muffled under his hand, but I know he can understand me. “Who’s doing this, Al?”

He doesn’t answer the question. “You need to get out of here, Lovino. He’s going to kill you if you try to stop him. You can’t win.”

His words create an overwhelming anger in me. All this time, I thought Alfred was one of the few people who believed we’d be okay. He was even optimistic in training a few times. But now he’s given up. “Screw you,” I mutter, then push him off of me and dart down the hallway as fast as I can.

If Alfred runs after me, I sure don’t hear him. I don’t hear anything for awhile, but eventually there is some muffled speaking ahead, seemingly coming from an open door with light flooding from inside. I approach it as quietly as possible, keeping my back against the wall to stay unseen. When I get to the door I lean forward the slightest bit to see inside, but there’s not much in there. I see a large velvet chair facing away from me, with a small table right next to it. There’s someone sitting in the chair, looking out the window, talking quietly.

“I know you’re here, Lovino,” the man in the chair says. “I could sense it when you arrived on the island.” 

I can hear it now. The male voice, the strong accent. And maybe that’s what causes me to enter the room completely, drop the gun to the ground, and walk to the side of the chair to see the psychotic nation. But once I’m next to him, the doors to the room slam, and I know I’m locked in. There’s no escape.

The man turns his head to look at me, his face only slightly visible from underneath his hood. “But I must say, Lovino, I didn’t think you were stupid enough to come here.”

He was at the camp with us. He trained with us, ate with us, spoke about how we would get all of our friends back and save the day. I never suspected him, and neither did the rest of us. But now the truth is right in front of me, and I have to face it. 

All this time, all along, it was Arthur.


	23. The Fight Begins

After following the two Asian girls down the long, dark corridor, Gilbert finally sees something worth reporting: Vietnam brings Taiwan into the dungeon. Not technically a dungeon, really, since it isn’t underground. But the hallway eventually turns into a long row of cells, and Taiwan is thrown into one of them. Gilbert stands in the shadows, watching in horror as various hands attempt to reach through the bars. He sees a couple of heads sticking through as well, and he clenches his jaw when the dark hair of Roderich appears. 

He waits patiently for Taiwan to leave, and as soon as she disappears Gilbert moves through the hall, carefully and quietly. The sights are horrible: all of his friends locked up and malnourished. Most of them are passed out on the cell floor. Eventually a few of them see him—including Roderich, who clings to the bars—but Gilbert holds a finger to his lips to silence them. He then proceeds to the nearest window, opens it, and shoots a bullet through the air. He has signaled the others.

… 

As this all happens, I stand in the locked room with the revealed Master. I just stare down at him for a bit, in shock, trying to gather my thoughts. 

“Goodness, Lovino,” Arthur says, taking a teacup from his side table and stirring the liquid with a teaspoon. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do relax. Would you care for a drink?”

He acts so casual, it’s almost intimidating. I try to open my mouth, but words fail me. Are there *any* words to describe this encounter? When I don’t respond, he waves his hand and a velvet chair slides up in front of him. “Please, do take a seat,” he requests. 

I stagger towards the chair, nervous and scared but confused and sick to my stomach. When I *do* sit down, he holds the teacup out in my direction. “Have some tea,” he suggests—a bit harshly, at that. 

I take the small glass cup in my hands—taking a moment to stare at the tea’s rich gold color, deciding it must be honey—but don’t drink it, not yet. “I’m sorry,” I eventually force out, “but I’m still so shocked. Why would you do this?” I can’t call him by his name, though I try to. This isn’t the Arthur I remember from the camp.

As he answers me, Arthur reaches under the collar of his velvet uniform to snatch a locket hanging around his neck, and he fingers it as he speaks. “Oh, it’s a lovely story, really. One I’m sure you of all people could relate to.” I must give him a strange look, because he continues, “The emotion that drove me to this is one you feel passionately, young Vargas. I did this through love.”

“Love?” I can’t help but scoff. “So you’re telling me that you’re killing people because you feel love? That’s not exactly what I would say.” It would be more like insanity, I think to myself.

Arthur sighs. “I haven’t *killed* anyone, Lovino. I’ve only tortured the weak who got in my way.”

I shake my head. “You lost me again. Start from the very top.”

He nods, smiling just a little. “You see, Lovino, I was in love. Much like you are, right now.” At this point, I know better than to protest, because he’s right and we both know it. “But I thought the love of my life was slipping away from me, towards someone else, and I was worried. So, *so* beyond worried. And because of my anxiety, I resorted to drinking one night. And while I was too intoxicated to realize my actions, I called upon the spirits.

“I know you all believe that my… ‘hobby’ was too abnormal to be true. But I can assure you that the dark spirits are indeed real, and they listened when I asked them to help me win my lover back. Their suggestion was to destroy the person who was preventing that. 

“Now, I really am not capable of murder anymore. Maybe in the past, absolutely. But I’m a modern man; I have my morals. And the spirits know that. So they gave me something, an object that would reveal whatever emotion I was hiding in the depths of my soul. And at the moment, that hidden emotion was anger. So their cursed object gave me the motivation to seek out he who had taken my lover away, and destroy him.”

“Lithuania.” I can’t believe it, but it’s all starting to make sense. “You thought Alfred was spending too much time with Toris, so you kidnapped and tortured him.”

“I almost killed him on the spot,” Arthur admits. “But as he lay in front of me, whimpering and bleeding and begging, a new hidden emotion made itself known. And that was a deep, insatiable appetite for power. Being such wonderful mentors, the dark spirits informed me that I could *always* feel that powerful. All I had to do was take over the world.

“But you can’t rule the world without an army, of course. So I started paying very close attention to you all. Deciding who was the strongest of the bunch, the most determined, the most loyal. Yes, I would kidnap the weaker links, but I would also seek out the stronger. And I would… *convince* them to join my cause.”

Suddenly I’m remembering Alfred’s words: “The others here, they’ve been brainwashed. He did something to them if they were unwilling to cooperate.” I also remember his gold eyes that he promised were contacts. And how at the camp, Emma’s attacker had gold eyes. And the driver who brought us there. And also Vietnam, just before in the hallway. 

Gold. I feel like something important is missing, something just in front of me. A deep, rich gold, like honey…

And then it hits me. Gold. Honey. Gold. With shaking hands, I stare down at the cup of tea in my hands, with the liquid as gold as honey. And I know. I know why Arthur’s being so casual about telling me everything. He thinks I won’t remember, because he had planned to brainwash me. Disgusted, I throw the cup to the side, and Arthur seems to not give a damn about the mess it has created. “You… were planning to use me?” I choke out.

“But, of course,” Arthur replies. “Did you not hear what type of person I wish for in my army? I want the strongest, the most determined, and the most loyal. You clearly display all of these traits. I have seen you train, and you are strong. And you are obviously determined and loyal, considering you created an army just to save your friend.”

“I want no part in this,” I snarl. “You’re absolutely insane, Arthur.”

It looks like Arthur is about to respond, but he is cut off by an extremely loud crack from nearby. At first, I have no idea what’s happening. But soon after I hear a series of battle cries from outside, followed by the sounds of hurried footsteps out in the hall. Then I recognize the crack to be the sound of a gun, and I know that Gilbert has signaled for the others. The castle is now under attack.

For the first time, Arthur sees me as a threat. He looks at me with a crazed look in his eyes, glancing over my shoulder out the window. He slowly walks toward it, and as he approaches the window, it flies open to reveal a balcony. Arthur doesn’t stand on the balcony though, he just goes near it and peers down at the field, which has now already started turning into a battleground. 

I hesitate, watching him. But he doesn’t move. He just stays there, observing. So I carefully pull my gun back out, keeping it low, as I advance toward him. When I hold the gun against his head, Arthur doesn’t move. He just stays there. A few brief moments pass, and then I hear him chuckle. “Oh, Vargas. Why have a weapon you won’t use?”

I frown, never faltering, even when Arthur turns to look right at me. He doesn’t even seem affected by the gun against his head. “I don’t believe you’re going to shoot me,” he replies simply, “but if you are, so be it. Prove me wrong. Do it.”

Honestly, I don’t want to do it. If anything, my plan is to take Arthur as a prisoner—not kill him. And he knows that; his eyes show no fear or concern. But I’m the leader. I need to appear intimidating. So I keep my gun up. 

But then he nods, and my gun is gone.

It was all a blur, but I recognize magic when I see it. My grip never loosens, yet the gun flies out of my hand across the room. Arthur’s hand begins to move, but I’m trained for this. I can fight without a weapon. So my instincts finally take over, and I immediately start with Yao’s form that I learned so long ago. I block his arm and go for his shoulder, then I pull him so his back is facing me. And finally—finally—I punch the side of his jaw, sending him crashing down to the floor.

Seeing my gun lying a few feet away from me, I take a dive for it, but Arthur is prepared. He waves his arm, and I’m suddenly on the ground, unable to move. Getting to his feet, he stands above me, smirking at me. He reaches down and locks his fingers around my throat, pulling me into the air and choking me. Arthur laughs and carries me to the balcony, releasing my throat and throwing me down by his feet. 

I can’t get up. I don’t have enough breath or energy after that to fight him. So I momentarily give up. Instead of fighting him, I force my eyes open and stare through the bars of the balcony, skimming the battle for anything important. Everyone is fighting well so far, and I’m proud of them. They’re doing something I, at the moment, can’t do myself.

Arthur sees my weak smile, and he waves his hand over the scene unfolding before us. “Wh-What are you doing?” I choke out. 

“Instead of destroying your little army, I’ll let them destroy themselves. He smirks down at me, raising an eyebrow. “I, little Lovino, am using dark magic to make their worst fears come to life.”

As if on cue, absolute chaos ensues on the battlefield.


	24. The Curse of Fears

Tino hadn’t wasted his time in last-minute gun training with Vash. He found his gun—some kind of machine gun, whatever it was called—and learned how to use it. But he hadn’t found the right one immediately. First, Tino had gone through various other guns, and he had heard the different sounds they made. So when he heard the loud crack echoing, Tino knew it was Gilbert signaling them. 

He doesn’t even wait for the “Fighting Side” to give them permission. Instead, Tino immediately looks over his shoulder to the Hackers—Natalia, Eduard, Berwald, and Katyusha—and nods. “Okay, guys,” he says. “Let’s get our friends out of there.”

… 

Everyone on Lovino’s “team” knows the soldiers they are fighting. Although some are random men Arthur chose from his home country, many are nations. Matthias Kohler, a Dane fighting with an axe. Francis Bonnefoy wielding a French sabre. Sadiq Adnan holding an Ottoman scimitar. Lien Chung, a Vietnamese woman using a heavy metal paddle. Greek Heracles Karpusi, hostile with his throwing knives. 

Now that he’s on the battlefield himself, Kiku realizes that this is not the place for children like Peter and Raivis. So he falls behind from fighting until he sees Peter off on the side, not too far from him. “Peter!” He calls the name over and over again until the boy responds. “You need to get out of here!” 

“No!” Peter screams back, hitting an unknown enemy in the head with his weapon and knocking him unconscious. “I’m strong enough! Let me stay here so I can fight!”

Anxiety just gets worse in Kiku then, and he watches as a soldier knocks Elizaveta’s frying pan out of her hand. Although she has other ways to fight, Elizaveta often relies on her frying pan to help her win. Now, with her trademark weapon out of her grasp, she is not fighting as well. Besides, hand-to-hand combat like that in the heat of a battle is not ideal.

Kiku also watches as a small wooden door from the side of the castle opens, and other nations start pouring out. They’re all covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, and Kiku immediately recognizes them to be the prisoners. 

A plan begins to form in his head. But it’s no battle plan; it’s a surrender plan of sorts, a way to get the weaker ones out of there. His katana slices through the chest of an unknown soldier as he calls again. “Peter! Look over there, at the door!” Peter listens and looks; his eyes grow wide. “Lead them back to the van. Get Elizaveta as well; she has no weapon. We’ll distract the enemies while you run. Now, go!”

Peter nods, waving Elizaveta over to him as he runs past her, through the battle at full-speed. Seeing his signal, Elizaveta knocks her enemy out with her bare fists and follows the boy. Peter stops for a moment to pick up and carry his friend Raivis, who has fallen unconscious in the middle of the field. They both then sneak over to the door and lead the imprisoned nations to safety, Peter leading the way to the van and Elizaveta staying near the door to fend off anyone who tries to stop them.

Finally pleased with the aid he’s given, Kiku turns back to fighting. But just as he does, a dark cloud of purple washes over the field for just a short moment. Nobody on the field notices, and none of them would have understood what it was even if they *had* seen it. The only two people who understand are Arthur and Lovino, as the purple cloud is the Curse of Fears. Kiku’s biggest fear is to lose the people he helped raise: his family. After all, his family is the only reason Kiku had joined the team in the first place; he had wanted to protect them. When his fear comes to life, Kiku turns around and sees that Sadiq is attacking him.

At first, Kiku thinks he can talk Sadiq out of it. But then he sees the brilliant golden eyes that do not belong to his friend, and he knows something is wrong. So Kiku takes a deep breath and fights, with Sadiq’s scimitar against his own katana. The blades clash, and there is so much energy in Sadiq’s offense. Kiku, however, is taken aback and is not fighting as well as he would have before.

…

A situation very similar to Kiku’s is also happening elsewhere on the battlefield. Yao’s biggest fear is his family separating. He’s always been so close with the other Asians, especially Taiwan and Hong Kong, and that’s why he is always so protective of them. Since the Asians had already separated, it’s starting to take its toll on Yao, especially when he realizes the identity of his attacker. 

His attacker wears a grey hood to cover his face—like many others on the field—but as they fight it falls off to reveal the features of Hong Kong. Yao is surprised at first, and his shock gives Hong Kong the opportunity to attack with his nunchucks. 

Yao has no choice. He has to fight back. But he tries so hard to make the young boy come to his senses. “Leon!” He screams through tears, but the other barely even blinks. “Li Xiao Jia Long!” he shouts, playing the full-name card. “Answer me! Please!”

…

Ivan has always been a good fighter. His pipe has never let him down. Even now, fighting on the battlefield with a heavier pipe than usual, he has a good chance of winning, destroying every enemy that charges at him. But Ivan’s fighting instincts cannot save him from the Curse of Fears. In fact, when his fear comes to life, it’s utterly terrifying.

Ivan’s biggest fear is being forever stuck in a place that is cold and dark. He knows of the darkness inside of his cold heart, and such a thing scares him. When his fear comes to life, Ivan feels completely frozen and loses his sight, able to only see darkness and feel the cold. 

When this happens, Ivan doesn’t even fight back. This fear is something he’s always known would eventually happen, so when it comes to life, he just stands there, paralyzed. His own enemies even give up on him, finding a fight elsewhere.

…

And somewhere else on the field is another fear similar to Yao’s and Kiku’s. Yet another soldier has his family as his first priority, meaning that his biggest fear must involve his loved ones. Lukas’ biggest fear is separation, and now he must face it head-on.

In the back of his mind, Lukas has always known that his Danish almost-lover Matthias Kohler could always abandon him at the drop of a hat, just like he did during the Kalmar Union. Like Yao with Hong Kong and Taiwan, Lukas keeps Iceland and his magical creatures so close due to this fear. He is so horribly scared of losing the ones he loves, and his fear comes to life when he finishes with one enemy and is attacked by a different one from behind. 

The blade of the axe just barely misses him, and when he sees the weapon Lukas knows this will be a hard battle to fight with his gothic daggers. But another factor will make this fight difficult. When he turns to face his opponent, Lukas looks into the newly-golden eyes of his most precious loved one.

“Matthias, stop! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

…

In the middle of the battlefield, Ludwig is fighting amongst the heat of it all. He is even confident when his older brother charges from inside the castle, firing his black AK 47 at anyone who attempts to mess with him. The two brothers fight back to back on the field, their guns firing into the crowd with intense precision, so as to not accidentally shoot anyone on their side. But as the purple cloud covers the field in its shadow, the two brothers are separated.

Gilbert’s biggest fear as an ex-nation is to no longer exist. When his fear comes to life, Gilbert falls to the ground and loses his gun—although he does not know why—which makes him unable to fight his opponents. As he lies there, the grey-clad Soldiers of Darkness carry him away to be tortured. The war may have already begun, but Gilbert’s determination can be used to the Master’s advantage. Oblivious to their plan, Gilbert believes he won’t exist once they’re through with him.

Ludwig’s biggest fear is like that of so many others on the field. He is terrified of the idea of being unable to help his loved ones when they need him most. Ludwig himself hadn’t known this about himself until Feliciano had been kidnapped. Now, as his fear comes to life, another loved one is being taken away from him.

“West! Help!” Ludwig glances over his shoulder as he fights to see a terrible sight: the soldiers are dragging his older brother away, and Gilbert screams for him to help. “Ludwig! West, please! I can’t move! Help me!”

“B-Bruder—Aagh!” Seeing his worst nightmare come to life before his very eyes shocks Ludwig, causing his focus to be off. While he is at a disadvantage point, his opponents steal his weapon and proceed to knock him to the dirt and beat him right there on the field. He lies there, half-heartedly fighting back, while watching his loved brother being dragged away, screaming for him the whole time.

…

I have to witness all of this happening as Arthur brings me down to the battlefield. He holds onto my gun but not me, but I’m not even attempting to fight. I just walk alongside of him, watching in horror as everyone on my team either flees or struggles to fight back. This is it. I’ve failed them. We’ve gotten our friends back, but at what cost? Nothing will ever be the same again. I don’t even know if we’ve won or not. Has *either* side won? 

“Your team is very considerate,” Arthur notes as we observe our surroundings. “When fighting their enemies, they go in for the kill only if the opponent is random. If he is one of the nations, they hold back and only fight to defend.”

“Because they care about each other,” I say through gritted teeth. “You *do* know what that word means, right? ‘Care’?”

Arthur smiles at me. “Of course I do, Vargas. It’s the reason we’re all here, remember? I cared too much for one person. Oh, that reminds me…” He brings me to another part of the field and points a couple of feet away from where two men are fighting intensely. I recognize the battle axe before Antonio.

“Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,” Arthur observes. “Also known as Spain. His biggest fear is to lose you, as I’m sure you already know.” I nod at that, and he continues, “So how should I make this fear come to life, hmm?”

No. No, please don’t, I try to say. But no words come out. I’m completely paralyzed, frozen in my spot on the field. I’m stuck watching, useless, as Arthur waves his hand and destroys Antonio. It’s as if now I’m watching *my* biggest fear come to life.

It’s hard to understand what’s happening from my perspective. I watch Antonio fight his opponent—another random soldier, nobody we know—and he does well. So well, in fact, that the axe slices through his enemy, ending him. I feel proud, wondering how this relates to me, before he suddenly jumps back a little and stares down at the body in horror. “L-Lovi…?” he whispers.

“My goodness, Lovino. Don’t look so confused,” Arthur says to me as I try to analyze what I’m witnessing. “I said his biggest fear was to lose you. What do you think I did?”

My mind flies a million different ways, coming up with a thousand different theories as I watch Antonio throw his axe down and fall to the enemy’s side, begging him to wake up. Finally, one theory sticks in my mind. One I don’t particularly like. “You made him think that soldier was me,” I whisper.

Arthur nods with pride. “You can speak up, you know, Vargas. I’ve made it so he can’t hear or see either of us.”

“You made him think he killed me. You… You asshole.”

“Now, now, little Italian. Watch your language.”

“Release him, now.”

“No.”

I am so beyond pissed off. I keep my place, hands clenched into fists and heart pounding so loud I can hear it. The problem here is, I know I’m outnumbered. Arthur has my gun and he has magic. What do I have right now? Nothing.

No… Not nothing… I have determination.

And that’s all I need.

Screw the forms Yao taught me. Screw the gun training, and the hours spent running laps around the camp. When I look back at the monster next to me, my instincts kick in. I immediately punch the asshole straight in the face while he isn’t looking, and I hear the crack. Arthur drops my gun, raising both hands to his now-broken nose. As he attempts to recover, I kick right in the middle of his back, sending him into the dirt ground. And even though he is lying on the dirt, bloody hands covering his head, I keep kicking and kicking him, showing no mercy or signs of stopping. Everyone had been doing so well before this evil man ruined everything we had worked so hard for. 

I almost keep going. Really, I almost do. But then I hear a scream. A shrill scream, much like one of the screams heard in horror movies that make your skin crawl. Even Arthur seems taken aback; he pushes himself off of the ground to find out where the scream came from, and as he does this the magic ends and releases everybody. Every soldier stops fighting then. Even Arthur’s soldiers stop dragging Gilbert away, giving him the strength to escape from their grasp.

Horrified from the sound of the familiar scream, I grab my gun and follow the sound. Only a few feet away, everything is unfolding. I see the body, lying in a pool of blood, as I approach, and a numb feeling washes over me. Someone suddenly appears next to me, clutching a goedendag in their hand. I know who it is, and I suppose the scream snapped him out of his brainwashed trance. He appears frozen for a moment just like me, before asking, “How… could this happen…?”

Though the scene before me is so cruel and horrible and disgusting, I can't help but let out a dark chuckle. “I told Antonio she couldn’t fight…”

“What is it? Speak up, both of you.” I can hear Arthur behind me, but apparently he can’t see what’s happened. “Netherlands, I command you. Tell me what in the bloody hell is going on!”

“You can’t command him to do anything. He’s free of you now,” I mutter, before moving to the side to let Arthur see the body of the amazing girl limp on the ground, her precious blond hair caked with blood. “You killed Emma.”


End file.
